
r 

r 

j 

1 

mati! 

^ 1 

r 

w. 


^ 1 


^ ■ J 

i 

fesKadtf^ ■ J 



'’Vn 


Jhril 





H 

B 

Bi 


M 

B *a«4] 

























liook • Qt Q 2-5 M 



g()i>vrk;ht dkposit. 



■ T 

1 . 

fA 

t 


i 





( 



I 


I • 


% 


0 


\ 


\ 


{ 


# 


4 • 


I 


r 


\ 


'k 





I 

k 

s 


\ 


< 


» . 







































































Hazel of Heatherland 
























Hazel 

of Heatherland 

By 

Mabel Barnes-Grundy 



New York 

The Baker & Taylor Co. 

33-37 East Seventeenth Street 
Union Square North 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
TwoCooies Rocolved 

MAR d 1906 


n OopyrljM Entry ^ 
-CLASS (Z ixcf No. 

^ COPY B. 


■f' 


COPTRIGHT, 1906, BY 

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO. 


PuBUSHED, March, 1906 


Pvblishers* Printing Company, New York 


Co mp Jllotl)cr 

In memory of many happy days spent 
in Heatherland 



CONTENTS 

CRAPTEB PAGE 

1. Sammy Imparls Some News 9 

II. On How I Became Acquainted with Mr. Inderwick . 23 

III. Sammy and Rose Gossip on an Unimportant Matter . 31 

IV. I Receive a Snvb from Mr. Inderwick, which Renders 

Me Angry 40 

V. An Encounter wUh Mr. Inderwick 56 

VI. I Go on a Visit to Aunt Mendophe 65 

VII. I Receive a Letter from Mother and Some Good Advice 

on Dress from Aunt Mendophe 81 

VIII. A Dinner Party, Followed by my Seeing the Ghost . 93 

IX. I Return Home, and Exchange Sentiments with Jerry 

on Autumn 106 

X. An All-Hallows' E'en Party 116 

XI. We Go to Tea with Mr. Inderwick, and I Describe the 

Dusting of Parian Jugs 132 

XII. On Wash-Days 145 

XIII. Mr. Inderwick Accompanies me to Gayton to Buy 

Butter 153 

XIV. I Tamper Successfully with a Keyhole and Lunch at 

Piper's Wdl 170 

XV. On the Repairing of a Lock and my Drive with Mr. 

Inderwick 195 

XVI. lama Little Poorly, and Mr. Inderwick Calls . . . 213 

1173 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PACE 

XVII . I Unfortunately Knock off a Piece of Angela's Hair, 

and She is Extremely Annoyed 225 

XVIII. Mr. Inderwick Asks a Direct Question, and I Reply 237 

XIX. I Desire to he a Lotus-Eater, and Sammy Brings me 

Rudely to Earth 255 

XX. I Start on a Second Visit to Aunt Menelophe, and 

Robert Inderwick Sees me Off 265 

XXI. Aunt Menelophe Holds Forth on the Subject of Mar- 
riage 279 

XXII. I Am Confronted with Another Perplexing Situation 294 

XXIII. I Make My Decision, And Am N ot Altogether Happy 302 

XXIV. I Have Some Little Differences with Eustace . . . 313 

XXV. A Walk in the Rain, and Eustace Talks Ruskin . . 326 

XXVI. Eustace Annoys me, and I Retire to my Room to 

Sew 330 

XXVII. I Receive Some Letters of Congratulation, and Eustace 

Again Annoys me 341 

XXVIII. I Take Decisive Steps 358 

XXIX. Aunt Menelophe Scolds and Afterward Comforts me . 371 

XXX. I Find Happiness 377 

XXXI. The Eve of my Wedding-day 385 


[ 8 ] 


Hazel of Heatherland 




4 



Hazel of Heatherland 


CHAPTER I 

Sammy Imparts Some News 

W HEN I was a little girl of, say, eight years of 
age, Sammy gave me a hedgehog. From that 
day to this he and I have been close friends. 
I remember the occasion well. I was huddled up on 
the floor in our small school-room endeavoring to write 
out the future tense of parler, to speak. My eyes 
smarted with unshed tears, my throat was swollen with 
suppressed sobs — for outside a summer day reigned su- 
preme, and it was full of sunshine and flowers and the 
scent of hay — when I heard the familiar sound of 
Sammy’s corduroys beneath the window. 

“It’s a little ’edge’og. Miss Hazelt, I have brought 
you. I found it asleep under the ’edge in the croft,” 
he handed it in as he spoke, a round, prickly ball, 
“and I have just seen the mistress and Miss Timmins 

and Miss Angela go out, and ” his voice dropped 

to a cautious whisper. 


[ 9 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Thank you, Sammy, you needn’t help me,” was 
all I said, as I crept through the window and jumped 
lightly to the ground. 

Sammy tempted me in those days, and I fell; he 
tempts me now, and I still fall. This afternoon he 
brought me some strawberries on a shiny rhubarb 
leaf ; they were of a large size and beautiful color. 

“But Miss Angela is making jam to-morrow,” I 
protested weakly. 

“A few strawberries ’ere and there won’t make 
much difference.” 

“ No, perhaps not,” I said still more weakly. 

I lay back in the wide shade of a sycamore tree and 
watched him at his mowing. His movements, after 
the manner of gardeners, were slow and restful. The 
little pink-tipped daisies and golden buttercups and 
sweet-scented grass seemed almost to smile as they 
toppled into the box of the machine; their removal 
from the sward had been as gentle as a caress. 

Our garden on a June afternoon, when the sun is 
shining after a soft shower of rain, is the most perfect 
thing in the world. Its scents are the sweetest — the 
warm, damp earth, the freshly cut grass, the wet roses 
and honeysuckle, and the whiffs of hay and meadow- 
sweet which creep through the little gaps in the hedge 
in the rear from the fields in the distance. Its colors 
are the loveliest. Could anything be more perfect than 
the creamy-white of a butterfly poised above the flam- 
ing scarlet of a poppy? or a purple pansy, with its 
[ 10 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


eyes full of tears, turning its velvety face upward to the 
sunshine ? 

I lay and watched the delicate fluttering of the 
creamy butterfly. I wished that it would leave the 
poppy, who was a flaunting, boastful sort of fellow, 
and go and kiss the little velvet pansy and comfort it. 
Nearer and nearer it fluttered, now pausing to inspect 
a bed of geraniums, anon hanging above some many- 
colored petunias. Now it was getting very close to my 
wet-eyed little flower. Ah ! my wish was gratified ; for 
one second it laid its lips on the lips of the pansy, and 
then it was gone. 

Sammy paused in his mowing, and, fetching a bottle 
of oil and a feather from the far end of the lawn, began 
to lubricate th^ machine. 

“ Did you speak. Miss Hazelt ? ” he inquired. 

“No, Sammy.” 

“ Miss Angela and the mistress are out ? ” 

“Yes, Sammy; that is why you gathered the 
strawberries and I lie on a deck-chair and do 
nothing.” 

A smile flickered round the comers of his mouth for 
a second, and then vanished. 

“ Miss Angela isn’t often out.” 

“ No, Sammy. Miss Angela belongs to that class of 
person who always stays in and ‘ sees to things.’ ” 

He seated himself on a stump of a tree and settled 
down for a gossip. 

“ It is a pity she doesn’t go out more.” 

6111 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAN:D 


“ A great pity,” I agreed. 

“The fresh air would do her good. She always 
looks pale-like.” 

“Yes; but she is extraordinarily healthy.” 

“ She is that Always up and doin’. ” 

“Always up and doing,” I assented with a sigh. 

“Is it a mothers’ meetin’ she be gone to this after- 
noon ? ” 

“No, to the consecration of Neston Church. She 
and mother have driven over with Mr. and Mrs. 
Oates. At the moment they will probably be singing 
‘The Church’s One Foundation.’” 

“Fancy, on a thirsty afternoon like this!” ejacu- 
lated Sammy, as he drew his hand across his mouth. 

“ Are you thirsty, Sammy ? ” I inquired. 

“Not desperate. Miss Hazelt; I’ve know’d myself 
worse.” 

“Is your inward eye, so to speak, directed toward 
the foundations of our house — to a cool corner, to a 
corner where a barrel reposes ? ” 

“Well, now you mention it. Miss Hazelt, p’r’aps it 
is, though I shouldn’t have thought of it unless my 
attention had been called to it.” 

I rose laughing. 

“Is it raspberry vinegar or beer you are taking?” 

“Beer on mowing days. Miss Hazelt.” 

I walked across the lawn to the house. On my 
return journey through the hall I met Rose, our house- 
maid. 


[ 12 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

“Sammy has had his beer to-day, Miss Hazel,” 
she volunteered. 

“Indeed!” 

“Yes. The missis never gives him more than one 
glass.” 

“Rose,” I remarked gently, “when I require in- 
formation upon any subject I will ask for it. Kindly 
open the front door for me.” 

It has always been somewhat difficult to keep Rose 
in her right place. 

With care I carried the foaming glass across the 
lawn. Angela would have said it was lowering myself 
to carry drink to a gardener, and extremely common. 
It was not common; it was unusual, my opportunities 
for so doing being rare, owing, as I remarked before, 
to Angela’s always being at home and “seeing to 
things.” 

“You should be very grateful to me, Sammy; it is 
hot in the sun,” I observed as I fell back in the chair. 

“I’m more’n grateful. Miss Hazelt,” he replied. 
And he looked it; and I was interested in wondering 
how much longer he could have held his breath, for 
the glass was of a fair size. 

He returned to his mowing and I to my day-dream- 
ing. With half-closed eyes I gazed at the patches of 
pastel-blue sky peeping through the delicate tracery of 
the sycamore leaves; at the white chiffon clouds; at 
the clean, bright, rain-washed green of the oaks; at 
the hundreds of little flies and midges glancing about in 
[ 13 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


the sunshine; at the brown plush bees as they lazily 
crawled in and out of the Canterbury bells and fox- 
gloves. Again I reflected what a good thing was a 
garden on an afternoon in June. Angela had said, 
as she passed me in her neat fawn alpaca dress, that 
perhaps I had forgotten that the week’s mending had 
not yet been touched. I expressed great surprise. It 
is so easy to be surprised, and it looked as though I 
meant to rush off straightway for my work-basket and 
the stockings. 

I lay and wondered what Angela would do if I were 
to die. There would be such a blank in her life. For 
twenty-one out of her thirty years she had devoted 
herself to reminding me of things like stockings to darn 
and drawing-rooms to dust. She would be very dull 
without me. And Heatherland was not a lively place; 
no, Heatherland-on-the-Dee might be the prettiest 
village in the Hundred of Wirral, its air might be the 
purest, its view of the blue Welsh hills might be the 
loveliest, but it was by no means lively. Mother and 
Angela would miss me very much. 

Sammy broke in upon my reflections. 

“Not much doin’ in Heatherland just now. Miss 
Hazelt.” 

I sat up quickly. Many years of experience have 
taught me that when Sammy in a casual sort of way 
says “Not much doin’ in Heatherland,” that he has 
news to impart of the utmost importance. 

As quickly I lay back again. Many years of experi- 
614 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


ence have also taught me that to extract that news one 
must proceed carefully and diplomatically. Sammy 
must be baited and played with exquisite skill, and this 
was a pleasant, lazy afternoon on which to angle. I 
smiled to myself as my fish went down on his somewhat 
rheumaticky knees and began to weed a geranium bed. 

“No, Sammy,” I replied carelessly, “there never is 
much doing in Heatherland; it is a place singularly 
devoid of interest.” 

“That be so, and yet now and again bits of news 
crop up like.” 

“ Yes,” I said, closing my eyes, “ but we are not in a 
position to hear it. We lead such quiet lives; and 
you, of course, not having a wife, are not likely to hear 
anything of real interest. Now Jonah at the rectory, 
and Jonah’s wife who cleans the church, will know 
everything ” 

A snort interrupted me. It came from the neighbor- 
hood of the geranium bed. 

“ Did you speak, Sammy ? ” 

“ Jonah ! Jonah Windybag ! ” 

“ I did not know that was his surname,” I remarked 
politely. 

Another snort. 

“ Jonah Claptrap ! Jonah Gaspipes ! ” 

“Dear me, what extraordinary names!” I ventured 
again. 

Sammy bent back on his haunches and spat on his 
hands. 

[ 15 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“And the wife of Jonah Windybag, Mrs. Windy- 
bag!» 

“Well, what of her? She seems a decent sort of 
woman,” I murmured. 

Sammy indulged in derisive laughter for some 
seconds. 

“ That woman will go to hell ! ” he said at length. 

This announcement was of so startling a character 
that in the stress of the moment I omitted to mention 
to Sammy the impropriety of his language. 

“Yes,” he repeated, “she may clean churches and 
polish up the brass on the font, but she’ll go to hell 
all the same.” 

“What a dreadful prospect for her! Are you sure 
you are correct in your supposition, Sammy ? ” 

“ Quite sartin sure. No woman can tell lies like her 
and keep out of hell-fire.” 

“ But what has she been telling lies about ? ” I asked 
with curiosity. 

“Everythink. It’s enough to make a hangel’s wing 
stop curling to ’ear her. Now, for instance. Miss 
Hazelt, she actually told Widow Price as ’ow I wanted 
to marry her before she made the acquaintance of 
Jonah.” 

“Well, perhaps you did,” I suggested; “only it’s so 
long ago you have forgotten.” 

When I met Sammy’s eye I felt sorry I had spoken. 

“Then she ’as told everybody in Heatherland,” he 
went on, ignoring my interruption, “that Jonah was 
[ 16 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


first with his peas and potaters this year. Jonah 
first!” (He was fairly spluttering now.) “Jonah 
before me with peas and taters! Why, Jonah can 
no more grow peas than I can grow coffee berries. 
Just as ours is gettin’ so old that they are about ready 
to turn into split peas, Jonah ’as his first lot ready, 
somewhere about Michaelmas.” 

“It seems to me that Jonah requires our sympathy 
and pity,” I said softly. 

“ And now, to beat all, she is goin’ round and tellin’ 
the whole village a private bit o’ news I tells to Jonah 
in strict confidence the other night. A most himpor- 
tant bit o’ news.” 

“ May I ask where you imparted this piece of news ? ” 

“ Why, at the ‘ Black Horse.’ I just stepped in 
casual-like. I wanted to see Jonah about some gera- 
nium cuttin’s, and he stood me a glass ; and, not to be 
behindhand in friendliness, I up and told ’un what I’d 
heard. There was just the two of us in a corner; not 
another blessed soul could ’ear.” 

“But don’t you think a public-house an unsuitable 
spot to select for the imparting of information of a 
momentous character? Jonah would — would prob- 
ably become expansive; you should have thought of 
that. Jonah’s wife, on his return home, would pos- 
sibly make unnecessary and somewhat pointed remarks 
about this expansiveness, and to soothe her Jonah 
would whisper into her ear your secret. But I don’t 
suppose it really matters, Sammy,” I continued. 

2 [ 17 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Nothing of any real importance happens in Heather- 
land. I’ll be bound that your secret is of no more 
weighty a character than the fact that Mrs. Oates’s 
tea and coffee service, which has done duty for twenty 
years, has just been resilvered, or that Mrs. Frederick 
Moss is engaged to be married, making the fifteenth 
time in all.” 

I again closed my eyes, and dismissed the subject 
as though finished with. I knew that Sammy’s secret 
would be mine within the next five minutes. I had 
only to lie with folded hands and await events. You 
have but to assume that Sammy’s news is absolutely 
worthless, when he will take every step to prove it to 
the contrary. 

He flung it at my head suddenly. 

“Mr. Inderwick be cornin’ to live at the Old Hall 
Farm.” 

Now I am bound to confess that I was startled; so 
much so that Dibbs, my wall-eyed fox-terrier, who 
was curled up on my knee, fell off, and walked away 
in high dudgeon. 

I recovered myself quickly. It would never do to 
let Sammy know that he had become, so to speak, 
master of the situation. His superiority would be in- 
sufferable; besides, I wanted to know more. I must 
walk warily. 

“Indeed!” I began in my coolest manner, but 
Sammy interrupted me. There was triumph in his 
voice. 


7 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“I knew you’d be surprised. Miss Hazelt. Why, 
you’ve gone quite flushed-like, and poor Dibbs gone 
away with ’is tail between ’is legs. You jumped so I 
thought as how you must be took sudden bad. Never 
saw any one so startled-like, and all about a bit o’ news 
that is quite valueless, and as likely as not may not ’ave 
a word of truth in it.” 

He picked up a rake and made a movement as though 
to go away. 

“Don’t go, Sammy,” I said quite humbly. “Your 
news is almost — epoch-making. I admit I — am — 
vastly interested. Sit down and tell me all about it. 
Who told you, and when is he coming ? ” 

There are occasions when one must humble one’s self 
even to one’s servitors. 

Sammy resumed his seat on the tree stump. There 
was a look of supreme happiness on his wrinkled, 
weathered old face, and he rolled his sentences round 
as though they were toothsome delicacies. 

“ It was ’is ’ousekeeper who told me. I was passin’ the 
farm, and she was shooin’ some hens to bed, and ” 

“Isn’t he married, then?” I broke in. 

Sammy regarded me severely. 

“I can’t do with hinterruptions, Miss Hazelt, when 
I’m tellin’ a story.” 

I expressed my sorrow, and he continued 

“She was shooin’ some hens to bed, and one, like 
the silly things they is, got through a hole in the ’edge, 
and comes screechin’ down the lane, with the ’ouse- 
[ 19 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


keeper — whose name is Mrs. Egerton — after it. She 
nearly ran into my hopen arms, and the two of us were 
nigh on ten minutes of the clock persuin’ that darned 
fowl of the air before we persuaded it to go ’ome. 
Then most civil-like she asks me in for some refresh- 
ment, which I thought would be unfriendly to refuse, 
and I follers ’er into the kitchen, wonderin’ what on 
earth could she be doin’ there, as the ’ouse, as you 
know, has stood hempty since auld Crabby died. And 
the whole place looked as though a Cheap Jack was 
goin’ to be held in it. Pots and pans, and pianers and 
pictures, and dolly-tubs and books, all muddled up 
in most hawful confusion ; and when she sees me lookin’ 
at it all, she says, ‘ You may well look.’ ‘ Is it a jumble 
sale ? ’ I asks. An’ she says, ‘ No. It’s Mr. Inderwick 
who is cornin’ to live ’ere. And I’m sortin’ out some of 
his old uncle’s rubbish. He must have been a rare old 
miser. Never saw such a collection in my life. Not a 
good pan or crock in the place. And the master cornin’ 
in a fortnight’s time, and me got to get the whole place 
cleaned down and the new furniture in ; it’s more than 
one mortal pair of ’ands can do. And when I writes to 
’im about it, he just writes back and tells me not to 
worry, but to be sure and put ’is split cane fishing-rod 
in a safe place and out of the dust. That’s all he cares 
for, ’is fishin’-rods and books, and not a decent coat to 
his back.’ ” 

“Did she say that?” I asked with uncontrolled 
interest. 


120 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

“She did so, Miss Hazelt. Those were ’er very 
words, ‘ Not a decent coat to his back.’ ” 

“ Perhaps he’s very poor,” I suggested. 

But Sammy waved this on one side. 

“ Crabby left him every sixpence of ’is money.” 
“No!” I said. 

“Yes,” said he; “and the farm and all the land and 
stock, and he’s goin’ to start farmin’. ” 

“ But he wasn’t a farmer,” I objected. “ I remember 
he was going to be a — a something in a profession — a 
barrister or a doctor.” 

“Can’t help that,” said Sammy doggedly. “He’s 
goin’ to start farmin’ now. His own ’ousekeeper says 
so, and she ought to know.” 

“Oh, of course!” I agreed. “Go on, Sammy; and 
— and he’s not married, and he must be getting quite 
old.” 

“He may be married,” said Sammy cautiously; 
“there’s no tellin’. Mrs. Egerton didn’t mention it. 
I’m only tellin’ you what she tells me. I likes to stick 
to the truth. He may be married and — divorced. 
I ’ave ’eard of divorced ’usbands, and I don’t wonder. 
Wimin are dry hash, Miss Hazelt.” 

“Yes, yes, Sammy,” I interrupted hastily, “so you 
have often remarked; but don’t you think he might 
— might be a widower ? ” 

“No,” said Sammy with extreme firmness, “I 
think it’s most himprobable. Wives never dies before 
their ’usbands, never wunst in their lives.” 

[ 21 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I lay back to consider this startling proposition^, 
racking my brains for one widower among my some- 
what limited acquaintances to refute this statement, 
when I caught sight of Angela’s parasol on the other 
side of the white gate. 

“Sammy,” I said, “I think I can see mother and 
Miss Angela. I may be wrong; but don’t you think 
the petunia bed requires a little weeding ? Miss Angela 
likes the front of the house to be kept tidy.” 


[ 22 ] 


CHAPTER II 


On How I Became Acquainted With Mr. Inderwick 

A nd so Mr. Inderwick was coming to live in 
Heathland ! The Mr. Inderwick I knew of old, 
and loved so well. Yes, loved, and I inscribe 
the word with calm assurance, for I was but seven years 
of age in the days when I set him up on a pedestal and 
worshipped him with childlike ardor — the big, grave, 
quiet man with the slow speech and kindly smile; the 
man who lifted me over the stiles and rough places and 
called me “little comrade.” 

I smile now when I think of the manner in which I 
scraped acquaintance with him. It was on an after- 
noon of midsummer, and I was on the shore wading 
barefooted in a little warm pool of water left by the 
tide, searching for crabs and mussels and baby eels, 
and congratulating myself on my escape from the 
clutches of Miss Timmins, when a big man came along 
the sands. He was absorbed in a book and was a 
stranger to me. He appeared to be making straight 
for my little pool and to have every intention of walk- 
ing over me. Nearer and nearer he came, and just as 
he was upon me I said politely — 

[ 23 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Please look where you are going.” 

He gave quite a jump, and then began to laugh. 

“ Why, where have you sprung from ? ” he asked, 
looking down at me curiously. 

“ I think I might ask you that question, ” I replied 
with dignity. “I have been here all along.” 

“ Oh ! have you } ” he said , becoming quite grave. 
“I beg your pardon.” 

I unbent at once. For any one to beg my pardon 
was a new experience to me. So far I had spent 
my life in being made to beg other people’s par- 
dons. 

“ Oh, don’t mention it,” I said graciously, and again 
he smiled. 

“ What are you doing ? ” he next inquired. 

“ Can’t you see ? ” I replied. 

He laughed again. 

“ Building a fort ? ” 

“ No,” I answered in disgust. “ I made forts and 
castles when I was a little girl.” 

He apologized once more. 

“You never knew any one of my age make sand 
castles, did you ? ” I asked. 

“No, perhaps not, but then — I have not known 
many — ^ladies.” 

This was a singularly sensible man. He clearly 
grasped the fact that I was not a little girl, and mother 
and Angela and Miss Timmins had always been so 
dull on the subject. 


[ 24 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

‘‘ Well, what are you doing, if it isn’t an impertinent 
question ? ” he asked. 

“ I am catching crabs and eels for my — my supper.” 
His lips twitched. 

“ May I see ? ” 

Carefully I raised the lid of my tin pail and held it 
up to him for his inspection. 

“There are three crabs and one eel. Eels are most 
difficult to catch, they are so slippery,” I explained 
apologetically. 

“ How do you catch them ? ” 

Still more I unbent. Angela and Miss Timmins had 
never displayed the faintest interest in my eel catching; 
they had entirely confined their remarks to the state of 
my legs and feet. 

“ Shall I show you ? ” I asked. 

“ Do,” he replied. 

“Well, you see those flat stones lying half-buried in 
the sand in that shallow pool of water ? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered. 

“Well, will you lift them up suddenly — eels gener- 
ally hide under stones — ^and then as they dart out I 
will grab at them ? ” 

“ What with ? ” said he. 

“ With my hands, of course,” I said in surprise. 

“ And aren’t you frightened of touching them ? ” 

“Frightened! Of course not. I should never be 
frightened of teeny little eels!” I retorted with fine 
scorn. 

[ 25 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Oh! they are only small ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,’’ I said regretfully. “The big ones stay out 
in the deep water.” 

Gravely he set to work, turning over great big stones 
I had been unable to move. I thrilled with excitement. 
I might catch a conger! 

“ Isn’t it exciting ? ” I whispered. 

“Rather!” he answered. 

From beneath the ninth stone an eel darted larger 
than my wildest hopes had imagined. With a yell 
I was after it, bare hands and feet and even knees 
were pressed into service as it wriggled across the 
sands in the direction of a much deeper pool of water. 
My breath came in gasps. “Help me!” I cried, and 
the next moment it was in my pail of water. 

“ Did I catch it — our hands seemed to get muddled 
up ? ” I inquired anxiously. 

“ Of course you did.” 

I drew a sigh of relief. 

“ Do you — do you think it could be a conger ? ” 

“ It might be,” he said guardedly. 

“ But do you think it is ? ” I persisted, my heart 
beating. 

He shook his head, and my spirits sank to 
zero. 

“ Are you very disappointed ? ” he inquired gently. 

I nodded, not trusting my voice. It had been the 
dream of my life to catch a conger all by myself and 
show it to Sammy. He appeared to have caught so 
[ 26 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


many congers when he was a boy, and all as thick as 
his wrist. 

“Well, we may get one yet,” he suggested cheer- 
fully, “ and that’s not a bad size — the one you have 
just caught. Do you ever pick cockles ? I’m told this 
is a famous place for cockles.” 

“No,” I said regretfully. “I’m not allowed. The 
beds are too far out, half-way to Wales, and there are 
quicksands and deep channels of water.” 

“ And you are only allowed to go eeling ? ” 

“Well — not exactly. I just slipped out when they 
weren’t looking and raced all the way. But they are 
less angry than they would be if I went cockling. I 
shall probably only get six verses of ‘Bingen on the 
Rhine’ to write out, and half a column of spelling. 
You see, it’s head-washing night.” 

“ Oh, is it ? ” he said with interest. 

“Yes,” I continued; “and I haven’t dirtied my 
frock much, have I ? ” 

“No,” he said, studying me carefully; “but you’ve 
got a big dab of mud on your sun-bonnet.” 

“That won’t matter,” I said carelessly; “it’s going 
to the wash to-morrow.” 

And it was just after this he made the most 
glorious suggestion — a suggestion which left me pal- 
pitating. 

“ Would you like to go cockling ? ” he asked 
suddenly. 

The blood rushed into my cheeks. 

[ 27 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Would you ? ” he repeated. 

For answer I skipped on my bare toes on the hot 
sands for some moments. 

“ Come along, then,” he said, taking my hand in his, 
and away we went. 

For fourteen years that afternoon has stood out 
like some beautiful picture from a background of 
dull grays. The warm, yellow sands, the blue of the 
sky, the gold of the sunshine as it flooded the hills in 
Wales, the little brown pools full of wavy, floating 
seaweed, the bright-colored vetches and sea pinks 
nodding away on the low, grassy cliffs to the right of 
us, the cry of the peewits as they circled round and 
round above our heads, the white seagulls paddling 
about in the glistening wet sands in the distance, the 
brown-sailed fishing-boats creeping along the Channel 
away to the open sea, and the big, quiet man with the 
kind, humorous eyes and warm hand-clasp and deep- 
toned laugh. And the cockles! Oh, those cockles! 
They were sandy and exceedingly small, but they were 
cockles. No longer would I stoop to common bivalves 
as mussels, or pick still commoner periwinkles. I had 
gathered cockles, and life from that moment took on 
a different aspect. Angela might scold me. Miss Tim- 
mins might punish me, mother might shake her head 
at me; but through it all I should be supported by the 
knowledge that I had picked cockles. 

He took me home afterward. When we reached 
the white gate of Shady Oak he made as though to 
[2811 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLA^D 


leave me, but there must have been something in my 
face which caused him to change his mind. 

“Why, I was forgetting,” he said cheerfully. “I 
must go in and explain matters. Poor little comrade, 
you got quite white.” 

Mother was very gracious, and I got off with an extra 
soaping and scrubbing in my bath that night, accom- 
panied by a lecture from Miss Timmins, who sat in a 
corner of the bath room and mentioned all the various 
places I should go to when I died, none of which greatly 
impressed me. For had I not picked cockles ? 

Our friendship lasted for one brief fortnight, and 
then he went away, and my heart was desolated. I 
saw him nearly every day during his stay in Heather- 
land, and when I didn’t see him I would creep off to 
the Old Hall Farm, which was quite close to our 
house, and peep through the big iron gates, my heart 
palpitating for fear old Crabby, the uncle of my hero, 
should pounce out on me ; and there I would peep and 
crane and stand on tiptoe, hoping for a glimpse or a 
word from my big, kind friend. And should I fail to 
see him, I felt as though the sun had suddenly gone out. 

The morning he left I presented him with a gorgeous 
bookmarker, upon which was worked in red cotton 
cross-stitch 

‘‘The Rose is red, 

The Violet’s blue; 

Sugar is sweet, 

And so are you.” 

[ 29 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


He expressed great delight with it, and said he should 
always keep it in his Shakespeare. I wonder if he did ? 
But no; it is not likely. Men don’t remember things. 
He was an event in my life — a big, important event. 
In his I was an incident, as slight and small and fleeting 
as thistledown in a wind. The bookmarker will have 
been lost, and I shall have been forgotten. 


[ 30 ] 


CHAPTER III 


Sammy and Rose Gossip of an Unimportant Matter 

A STRANGER to Heatherland, after a brief visit 
to our pretty village, once remarked that its 
inhabitantsnever appeared to work — only to gos- 
sip. This was an untrue statement. According to her 
own showing, Angela works harder than any one in the 
world. I also work very hard, though mother and 
Angela won’t believe it, and Sammy, Rose, and Eliza- 
beth work every now and then. I admit they have 
gossiped lately more than they have worked, and I 
have done my best to check them in this grievous 
habit. It was only this morning I remonstrated with 
Sammy on the subject; but he did not take much no- 
tice of what I said — in fact, he might not have heard 
me. 

“Mr. Inderwick is to arrive at the Old Hall Farm 
to-day. Miss Hazelt,” he volunteered. 

“You said the same thing two months ago,” I re- 
plied, as I reached up for a large Victoria plum with 
a fascinating dry crack across its middle. (Dry cracks 
in plums always betoken extreme sweetness.) 

“ But this time it ’s gospel truth. Miss Hazelt. I ’as 
[ 31 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


it from Mrs. Egerton herself. I met ’er ’urryin’ 
through the village this mornin’, and she says, ‘The 
lamps is all trimmed and lit and burnin’ ready for the 
master’s cornin’, and I cannot tarry wid you, Samuel 
Broster,’ that is what she says.” 

“ But isn’t that a little extravagant at this time of 
day?” I suggested. 

Sammy eyed me with some pity. 

“A figger of speech. You mustn’t take things said 
by wimmen too literal. Miss Hazelt.” 

“I see,” I said gravely, as I helped myself to an- 
other plum and sat down on a low branch of an apple- 
tree, motioning Sammy to the wheelbarrow. “ And so 
he’s really coming to-day ? ” 

“ That’s so. Miss Hazelt. You’ll not be disappointed 
this time.” 

I looked at him coldly. 

“I was unaware of any disappointment in the past, 
Sammy. Mr. Inderwick is nothing to me.” 

“You was great friends wunst.” 

“That was many years ago.” 

“And you give him a bootiful bookmarker wid 
poetry on it.” 

“I shouldn’t give him bookmarkers now.” 

“ Wouldn’t you ? ” 

“Certainly not.” 

Sammy looked at me suddenly. 

“ Of course, you’ve grown up now. Miss Hazelt ? ” 

There was a note of interrogation in his voice. 

[ 32 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“I’ve been grown up for years, Sammy. I feel like 
that old hen mentioned in cookery books as ‘Take an 
old fowl, tie it in muslin, and boil slowly for six 
hours.’ ” 

Sammy looked at me narrowly. 

‘ You don’t look quite as old as that. Miss 
Hazelt.” 

I laughed. 

*‘You are very encouraging, Sammy.” 

“ Now Miss Angela, she do ; she’s always looked the 
same ever since I first know’d ’er — so neat-like and 
old-fashioned; an’ she couldn’t ’ave been much more’n 
ten when the master and missis first comes to Heather- 
land.” 

“She was nine,” I corrected, “and I was born the 
year after.” 

“Eh, and the master did make a fuss of you! You 
couldn’t do wrong.” 

“I have made up for it since he died, according to 
Miss Angela,” I sighed. 

“ Miss Angela’s a bit strict-like,” remarked Sammy, 
“and sayin’ that calls to mind she wants the plums 
gathered to-day for presarvin’.” 

He got up stiffly and fetched a basket from the 
apple-room. 

“ I’ll help you,” I said. “ I ought to be dusting the 
drawing-room, but perhaps they won’t notice. Any 
more news?” I inquired indifferently after we had 
been picking for some time. 

3 [ 33 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Sammy reflected. 

“ Nothin’ of much interest, Miss Hazelt — only about 
Mr. Inderwick, and you’ll be tired of ’im.” 

“Of course, if you have nothing of any greater im- 
portance to impart I must put up with him,” I said 
graciously. “ What’s he been doing now ? ” 

“Fishin’.” 

“That’s not much.” 

“You wouldn’t say so if you could jus’ hear Mrs. 
Egerton’s views on the subjec’.” 

“ What does she say ? ” 

“She says as how he doesn’t do much ’imself when 
’e gets the fever badly, as ’e just sits on a bank or in a 
boat as though he ’ad taken root there; it’s she who 
does the work.” 

“ Wkat does she do ? ” I asked. 

“Well, she keeps ’is meals hot for one thing; she 
says ’is dinner will stand for four hours, and then 
’e’ll come in in quite a dazed sort of way and ask if 
it’s ready, and never listens to what she says about it, 
and will hinterrupt ’er in the middle of a sentence and 
say, ‘Well, never mind, Mrs. Egerton, if the dinner’s 
not ready; I don’t mind waiting a bit. You’re pretty 
punctual as a rule; I’ll just be makin’ a gut cast.’ 
And then ’e empties everythink out of a case on to the 
floor — ’ooks and lines and gut — which yer catches your 
feet in, till your life’s in constant jeopardy — those was 
Mrs. Egerton’s very words. She says as ’ow glad 
she is ’e has had this last bout away from ’ome up in 
[ 34 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Norway, and that other folks as ’ad the takin* care of 
him, as she was fairly done the last time.” 

“Mrs. Egerton appears to have a somewhat wear- 
ing time one way or another,” I observed. 

“She do that, but she says she puts up with ’im be- 
cause ’e’s a kind master in spite of his contrairy ways ; 
and she ’as known him since ’e was a baby in long 
clothes, and so she stands by ’im.” 

“It’s very kind of her.” 

“Yes, she’s a kindly sort of body,” agreed Sammy, 
“and a rare worker.” 

“ What time is he expected to-day ? ” 

Sammy considered for some moments. His memory 
is defective, but his imagination is great. 

“ Perhaps Jonah would know,” I said softly. 

Sammy hit at a wasp somewhat viciously. 

“Between four and five this afternoon. Can’t say 
exactly to a minute; trains is unpunctual, and then 
’e’s to drive from Neston, and you never knows ’ow a 
horse will travel.” 

“No, of course you don’t,” I assented; “and I think 
I must go now, as I shall be wanted in the house. Miss 
Angela is never really happy when I am out of her 
sight. Good-by, Sammy.” 

I sauntered down the garden slowly with Dibbs lead- 
ing the way. Dibbs always likes to be in front. 

At the back door I met mother. She was studying 
the butcher’s book. 

“Have you heard the news?” she asked, pausing 
[ 35 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

with a finger on a column of figures. “ Mr. Inderwick 
is to arrive to-day.” 

“ I have heard that before,” I answered. 

“ But I think it must be true this time, as the butcher 
told Elizabeth that Mrs. Egerton had ordered five 
sheep’s kidneys and a sirloin of beef.” 

“They might be for herself,” I suggested. 

“Most improbable,” said mother. “It is hardly 
likely a housekeeper would dare to order sheep’s kid- 
neys for herself at fourpence a piece, and the best cut 
of the sirloin when beef is up.” 

“ But she must eat something,” I argued. 

Mother shook her head. 

“Not kidneys and sirloin,” she said decidedly; 
“liver and topside of the round, if she knows her 
place.” 

I passed on upstairs to my bedroom. I thought I 
would take a peep at the Old Hall Farm. Rose was 
there engaged in cleaning the four brass knobs on the 
bedstead. 

“ Do you spend your entire existence. Rose, in clean- 
ing the knobs on my bedstead?” I inquired. 

She looked at me in surprise. 

“ Only once a week. Miss Hazel.” 

“ It seems much oftener to me,” I said, “ but I may 
be wrong.” 

“No; only once a week,” she repeated. “Am I in 
your way. Miss Hazel ? ” 

“No, thanks. Rose. I was merely reflecting that I 
[ 36 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


never seem to enter my room without finding you en- 
gaged in placing everything off the dressing-table on 
to the bed preparatory to its cleaning, or polishing the 
knobs.” 

“Once a week each, Miss Hazel,” said Rose in a 
voice that would brook no argument. 

I strolled to the window. By leaning out I knew 
that through a break in the dense foliage of the oak 
trees which encircle our front garden I should be able 
to get a good view of the Old Hall Farm; but, of 
course. Rose was there, and she was only on the second 
knob. I glanced at her furtively and found she was 
staring at me hard. Dropping on to a chair, I took up 
a piece of work. 

“ Never knew you to sew in a morning before. Miss 
Hazel,” she observed cheerfully. 

I made no reply. 

“Mr. Inderwick’s cornin’ to the Old Hall Farm to- 
day,” she volunteered next. 

I began to feel a deep pity for Mr. Inderwick. Had 
he realized what living in a small country village in a 
remote corner of Cheshire would mean? Was he 
prepared for the moral and mental dissection which 
he would be bound to undergo ? Poor, wretched 
man! 

“Indeed!” I replied coldly. 

“ Yes ; his luggage came yesterday. Only one port- 
manteau, no trunk, and six wooden cases. Father 
helped to carry ’em in, and he says they were that 
[ 37 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


’eavy he shouldn’t be surprised as they turned out to 
be books.” 

I began to be interested, but Angela says it is undig- 
nified to gossip with a housemaid. My talks with 
Sammy are on a different basis — ^he is an old and 
valued retainer. 

“A servant’s engaged, too; fancy, a servant as well 
as a ’ousekeeper for one gentleman! And she’s got a 
fringe.” 

There was a note of envy and soreness in Rose’s 
voice which touched me. Angela will not permit 
fringes to the servants; she says they are common. 
Her own fringeless forehead reminds one of a round, 
polished dome. 

“ Never mind. Rose,” I said gently. “ Your hair is 
very pretty and wavy. I wish mine were as nice.” 

Rose peeped at herself in the looking-glass and then 
blushed. 

“It must be nice living with a single gentleman; 
don’t you think so. Miss Hazel ? ” 

“ I’ve never tried it,” I replied guardedly. 

“ I don’t suppose they’d go holding all the tumblers 
to the light after you had washed them to see as they 
was clean, or go scrattlin’ under the mats lookin’ for 
crumbs, or drawing their fingers along the top of the 
balisters searchin’ for dust.” 

There was real grievance in Rose’s tones now, and 
she attacked the third knob with alarming energy. 

A sound of wheels came up from the cobble-paved 
[ 38 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


village; it was too self-contained and superior for a 
cart; it was much too early for Mrs. Moss or Mrs. 
Hawthorn to be taking their daily drive. I glanced at 
Rose; her back was to me, and she was still taken up 
with her grievance. With stealth I crept to the open 
window and leaned out. A smart dog-cart flashed by; 
it contained two men, but I could not see their faces. 
Still further I leaned out, craning my neck. 

“That must be Mr. Inderwick.” 

The voice came from the small of my back, and I 
started so violently that I nearly lost my balance. 

“Rose,” I said severely, “I wish you would get on 
with your work. It is simply disgraceful the way you 
waste your time. You have been over half an hour in 
cleaning three small bed-knobs. It is nothing to you 
whether it is Mr. Inderwick or not Mr. Inderwick. 
Try and check this spirit of curiosity.” And I swept 
from the room, leaving Rose with a most astonished 
countenance. 


[ 39 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


I Receive a Snub from Mr. Inderwick Which 
Renders Me Angry 

N O one likes to be snubbed. Least of all a woman 
by a man, especially when the snub is unwar- 
ranted. Mr. Inderwick has snubbed me, and I 
can never forgive him. I smiled at him last Sunday in 
church. The smile was one of pure friendship, of 
good fellowship. It came from me suddenly, before I 
could stop it. It was not premeditated; it came like 
a flash when I caught sight of him. And in return — 
my cheeks still flame when I think of it — he just stared 
at me, a surprised, prolonged, superior, raised-eye- 
brows sort of stare; a stare that first seemed to turn 
me to stone*, and then sent me down on my knees for 
the Litany as though I had been shot; a stare that has 
burnt into my brain, into my being. Shall I ever for- 
get it ? Shall I ever forget that the entire congregation 
of Heatherland witnessed my discomfiture (for it 
seemed to me that the eye of every woman of the vil- 
lage was fixed upon me unflinchingly) ? and shall I 
always be shut up inside our own garden gate for the 
remainder of my natural life? I dare not go out; I 
[ 40 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


simply dare not run the risk of again encountering that 
petrified gaze. 

Now, I should have behaved so differently under 
the circumstances had I been a man. Were nice girls 
to smile at me in church, I should just smile back at 
them whether they were known to me or not, and 
enjoy myself immensely. I should certainly not assume 
that exclusive, monarch-of-all-I-survey air; I should 
accept with gratitude any kindliness shown to me. 

Miss Timmins used to say men were a snare and a 
delusion. She invariably giggled when she said this, 
and scratched her left shoulder-blade with her right 
hand. Angela said men were untidy, unpunctual, and 
unreliable. And I, from a spirit of opposition, said 
they were much nicer than women and I loved them. 
None of our opinions were of the slightest value to the 
world, for men, with the exception of dear father, were 
a genus unknown to us. Country villages do not pro- 
duce men; they only run to women and cows and 
crops. Of course there are a few fathers with nicely 
combed beards who give half a crown to the collection 
on Sunday, and drive in nicely appointed carriages to 
the city each day to do something in cotton or shipping, 
but they don’t count. Fathers naturally don’t count 
as ordinary men, neither does Frederick Moss, for he 
is half a poet and plays the organ in church. And now 
I withdraw all that I said about men in the past — I 
don’t think they are nicer than women, and I hate 
them. 


[ 41 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I might have known everything would go wrong last 
Sunday. Things always do on a Sunday. Perhaps it 
is through wearing your best frock, or having kidney 
with your bacon for breakfast. The Lord may think 
you are self-indulgent, and send trouble to balance 
things up. 

The sun and clematis together woke me — that was 
the only nice bit in the day. The sun was so cheerful 
and expansive, and the clematis tapped its velvety cups 
against the window-pane, and they peeped in and said — 

“Get up; it’s grand out here.” 

They only whispered it, but I heard them. 

“Not just yet,” I murmured sleepily. “Rose hasn’t 
been to call me. I never get up till I’m called.” 

“ Lazybones ! ” they laughed. “ Do you know this is 
just the kind of morning you love best in the world — 
sunny, hazy, dewy September, and the drenched dahlias 
and grass and bushes are drying their garments in the 
sunshine.” 

I opened one eye, but the lid of the other was too 
heavy to lift. Then they began again — 

“I should get up if I were you. Away on Oldfield 
Common is a most exquisite carpet of purple and gold 
— it is only heather and gorse, but the scent is some- 
thing divine. All the bees and bumble-bees of Heath- 
erland are assembled there, and are humming and 
buzzing as though they had struck a gold mine.” 

“I have smelt heather and gorse and seen bees be- 
fore,” I said firmly. 


[ 42 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Then they became artful. 

“Mr. Indenvick will probably be in church to-day; 
he used to go to church in the old days, and ” 

In a twinlding my bare feet were standing on a 
warm patch of sunlight which hovered about the faded 
pink rhododendrons on the carpet. 

“I don’t believe it,” I remarked casually. “I am 
only getting up because it is time. I am sure Mr. 
Inderwick won’t be at church. Men don’t go much to 
cliurch unless they are married, mother says, and then 
they go for peace and quietness, as their wives worry 
them so.” 

I sat down by the window and fell to thinking — 
what should I wear. I would like to look nice this 
particular Sunday, because — why, because it is a duty 
a girl owes to herself and her friends to look her best. 
Dowdy women are an eyesore. 

I walked across to the wardrobe. It was quite un- 
necessary. I knew every garment I possessed off by 
heart. There was the old brown merino in which I 
do spring cleaning; Heatherland at one time knew it 
well, though a lapse of years might have caused it to 
be forgotten; that wouldn’t do. There was a blue 
print frock which had shrunk in washing; a tuck had 
been let down, and people who might have forgotten 
the original color of the print could now refresh their 
memories by gazing at the place where the tuck had 
been. Angela says it doesn’t matter, as it looks like a 
trimming. Angela has more faith in the imaginative- 
[ 43 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


ness of people than I. A pink cashmere I condemned 
at once — mother and Angela always insist on my buy- 
ing the “good old materials,” as they call them, like 
merino and cashmere — I look like an orphaned shrimp 
in it, about to be picked, and it has a gooseberry stain 
on the sleeve. It is supposed to be my best summer 
frock, but if I can wriggle out of wearing it, and get into 
an old, black grenadine I have had for years, I do. 
There was only a white muslin left, the prettiest of the 
lot, frilly and fluffy, with lots of tucks; it caused me to 
be bankrupt for months, and I was obliged to sell some 
old clothes to Mrs. Flutterby, the washerwoman, to pay 
for the making. I recollect Angela came in while I 
was transacting this little business, and I had to whisk 
the clothes into an empty dolly-tub and then stand in 
front of it. I thought she never would leave the wash- 
house, and she eyed me in the same way as she does 
tramps when they are out of work. 

I fingered the muslin for some little time; I patted 
the frills and tucks, and stroked the soft fichu. How 
pretty it was! Would Angela say it was out of place 
in church, and ridiculous to wear in September ? And 
if she did, why should I mind ? It was my body and 
not hers I proposed to clothe in it. It was a pity never 
to wear it, and it would soon be old-fashioned. 

A knock came at the door. 

“Are you up. Hazel ? ” 

My sister* never omits to ask this question each 
morning. 


[ 44 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


‘‘Yes,” I replied. 

“You are very quiet.” 

‘Would you have me make a noise like a battering- 
ram when I am dressing ? ” 

“ But you have not had your bath. I have finished 
mine.” 

This is another little peculiarity of Angela’s. She 
always tells you when she has had a bath, just as though 
she were the only clean person in the world. But then 
I think she is no different from any other woman in this 
respect. They all tell you when they have had cold 
baths, perhaps not directly, but it comes in somehow: 
“When I was having my cold tub this morning the 
thought struck me,” etc. ; or, “ Wasn’t the water cold 
this morning ? ” 

I opened the door suddenly and nearly upset Angela. 

“Why, you are still in your nightgown ! ” she ejacu- 
lated. 

“ Would you wish me to walk about the house with- 
out one? ” I said politely as I passed into the bath- 
room. 

“You will be late as usual,” she shouted above the 
noise of the running water. 

She may have said other things as well, but I was 
splashing vigorously, and her voice was drowned. I 
admit it was a little impolite of me, but then it does get 
monotonous hearing the same old thing morning after 
morning, that I shall be late; Angela varies her con- 
versation so little. Besides, I wanted to finish thinking 
[ 45 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


out my costume for the day. Should it be the white, 
and risk the dropping out of my sister’s eyes, or should 
it be the shrimpy pink, as the grenadine had a hole in 
the elbow? Slowly and thoughtfully I got into my 
clothes and did my hair. It would be delicious to 
walk down the aisle with a white train sweeping after 
me. How Rosabel Hawthorn would stare! She al- 
ways wears a train on Sunday, but I have never been 
allowed. Mother and Angela say a true lady dresses 
in a quiet and modest way on the Sabbath. I cannot 
see why a train should be considered tmmodest; I 
should have thought it was the other way about. I 
kept glancing at the interior of the wardrobe, and then 
out at the sunshine. It was certainly warm enough, 
and so bright. There might be just one wee cloud on 
the horizon, but it was no bigger than a man’s hand, 
and was probably caused by smoke from a steamer 
on its way to the Irish Sea. I would wear the white. 
Firmly I advanced to the wardrobe, deliberately I 
slipped the skirt over my head, carefully I fastened the 
fichu of the bodice with a pearl brooch, and with 
pleasure I gazed at my slim, white reflection in the 
mirror. It was nice to feel well dressed. I felt brave 
enough to have given notice to a servant in that skirt. 
The cut of a garment will send up your self-confi- 
dence in a wonderful way. 

“Hazel,” Angela’s voice came down the passage, 
“mother says you are not to wear your old, black 
grenadine to-day, as the sleeve wants mending.” 

[ 46 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


In a panic, I was at the door and quickly turned 
the key in the lock. 

“Very well,” I called. 

“What are you locking your door for? Are you 
going to read your Scripture portion ? ” 

My sister’s voice was full of curiosity as she turned 
the handle. 

“Angela,” I said, “go away, or I shall say something 
rude.” 

I listened to her retreating footsteps, and then began 
to unfasten my frock. I simply dare not wear it. 
Half-way through the hooks I stopped. My eyes had 
caught sight of a text over the washstand — “ Be strong 
and of a good courage,” but that surely referred to 
being good, and not to the wearing of white gowns. 
I went on with the unfastening of the hooks, and 
reached out the shrimpy pink. I would not glance at 
myself in the mirror, I knew so exactly how I looked 
in that pink — a Sunday-school teacher out for a picnic. 
I wandered to the open window, and my gaze fell upon 
the Old Hall Farm and the two fir-trees standing like 
sentinels in front of it. In a flash I saw myself in 
church, and Mr. Inderwick staring at my wrinkly pink 
back and skimpy skirt. It could not be endured. 
Five minutes later I was running down the stairs, 
holding up my white train, as the gong went for the 
third time. 

Angela had got as far as her second helping of bacon 
and bread and drip. She was in the act of raising a 
[ 47 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


comfortable-sized piece on the end of her fork to her 
mouth as I entered the room. Her fork stopped half- 
way, and her mouth remained open as I kissed mother, 
patted Dibbs, and took my place. 

“ Do I look as nice as all that ? ” I inquired amiably 
as I helped myself to a piece of toast. “ Should you 
mind giving me some bacon and kidney ? ” I next sug- 
gested mildly, as my sister’s eyes remained rooted on 
my person. 

Mechanically her jaws closed on the bread and drip 
as she removed the dish cover, but her eyes never left 
me for a single moment. 

“What have you got your garden party frock on 
for?” she breathed at length. 

“Angela,” I said, “you should never end a sentence 
with a preposition; it is a bad style.” 

Sunday is the only day on which I am courageous 
in my dealings with Angela. It would be so wrong of 
her to lose her temper when she goes to church twice 
and Sunday-school once. 

“Mother, why is Hazel wearing her garden party 
dress ? ” 

Dear mother looked worried, and shuffled behind 
the tea-cosy. She felt that Angela for some reason 
was annoyed, and she does not like Angela to be an- 
noyed. She looked at me appealingly, and her cap 
slipped a little to one side. 

“Angela,” I said, “ I am quite capable of answering 
for myself. I am wearing this gown because it suits 
[ 48 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

me to do so. And please do not speak of it as my 
garden party dress. I don’t go to garden parties, as 
you are aware. People in Heatherland don’t give 
them.” 

Angela breathed hard. 

“Are you going to church in it ? ” 

“Certainly,” I replied. 

She lifted her hands in horror. 

“And after all your training! to go decked out like 
a common village girl on a Whit-Sunday ! I should be 
ashamed to be seen with you. It’s disgraceful. What 
ivill Mrs. Oates think ? ” 

With an effort I fought down my rising anger. 

“ It does not trouble me what Mrs. Oates may think. 
She will probably be envious that she is not young 
enough to wear white, and will wish that her waist was 
of more normal proportions. And if you object to 
being seen with me I will go to another seat. I have 
always had a desire to sit in the gallery.” 

Mother shook her head at me. 

“ Perhaps your sister is right. You had better 
change it after breakfast. Hazel.” 

“But do you think white — simple white muslin — is 
out of place in a church, mother? You know you 
used to wear colored muslins when you were a girl. 
You know you did; you have told me so.” 

She looked at Angela. 

“I don’t think white matters so much,” she began 

hesitatingly. “ But ” 

4 


[ 49 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Well, that settles it,” I broke in. “ So long as you 
don’t object I shall wear it.” 

I was amazed at my own temerity, and hurried out 
of the room. I rarely fight Angela. Few things are 
worth the trouble; and besides, mother always takes 
her part, and two are more than I can combat. 

Before going to church I fastened some yellow roses 
into my fichu. Again Angela got me wild by remark- 
ing that I might be going to a wedding. She said it 
under her breath, but of course she meant me to hear. 
I crunched down the gravel walk in front of her to the 
gate, not daring to let myself speak — if I once let my- 
self go there would be a row. And for mother’s sake 
— well, for mother’s sake, I didn’t call her a common, 
yellow, kitchen cat, though I repeated it to myself 
several times over as we walked down the lane to the 
church — “Angela is a common, yellow, kitchen cat” 
and it brought me some relief. I was still repeating it 
as I passed down the aisle and along the seat to my 
place in the corner and knelt on a hard hassock. 
Angela is High Church, and she bowed low before 
entering the pew. Suddenly the thought came to me 
— how comical for a yellow, kitchen cat to be High 
Church. I stified a laugh, and Angela eyed me with 
extreme disapproval. With an effort I pulled myself 
together, and looking up at the east window, tried to 
pray; nothing would come but “Angela is a common, 
yellow, kitchen cat.” I ought to have been over- 
whelmed at my wickedness, at my irreverence, but 
[ 50 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


strangely enough I wasn’t. I felt somehow that God 
would be understanding. He had created Angela, so 
would know all about her. He would know how try- 
ing she was, what a thorn in the flesh. I am convinced 
St. Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” was an Angela, or why 
was he so down upon women ? 

Mr. Oates’s stentorian “Dearly beloved brethren” 
called me to attention. I felt a little tired of Mr. 
Oates; he is so noisy, and uses his handkerchief so 
frequently, which he waves like a flag. I was tired, 
too, of Mrs. Oates’s boat-shaped hat, which is kept on 
by a shabby, stringy piece of elastic and a jet button. I 
wished she would get a new one; boat-shaped hats are 
not pretty, and she would look much better in a bonnet. 

My eyes wandered to mother. She wore an ab- 
sorbed, happy, uplifted expression. Mother is really 
religious; prayer is a true pleasure to her, and her 
Sunday reading of the Church Times one of her pleas- 
antest relaxations. The mauve bow in her best bonnet 
looked reverent and Sundayfied, her mantle reminded 
one of saints’ days, and her very gloves were black kid 
and devout. She had forgotten her housekeeping and 
account books, and Angela’s and my “ little differences,” 
as she calls them. Her soul and mind and spirit were, 
for the moment, above the things of this world. Dear 
old mother, how perfect she would be but for her short- 
sightedness in loving her elder daughter better than 
her younger! She is so very nice when you get her 
quite alone to yourself! 

[5ip 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I passed on to Angela. Her face beneath its fawn 
velvet hat was inscrutable. She bowed low in the 
Creed and never raised her eyes from her vellum- 
backed Prayer-book. 

The Misses Trimmington I regarded with friendly 
eye, and admired their pretty, gray, bobbing curls. 
I shall begin curls when I am fifty; they are such a 
soft frame to little, old faces. 

From the Misses Trimmington I wandered on to 
Sammy away in the north aisle. I felt fearful of his 
expending so much energy on “Onward, Christian 
Soldiers.” His cheeks were quite purple and the day 
was hot. I glanced round to see if the door were open, 
and — fell right upon Mr. Inderwick. The encounter 
was so sudden, so unexpected — I had completely for- 
gotten him — that for a moment my heart seemed to 
stand still. And then I smiled that wide, friendly, 
intimate smile. As in the twinkling of an eye fourteen 
years slipped away from me. I was no longer Hazel 
Wycherley, grown up, but a little, thin, freckled, happy 
girl standing barefooted in a pool of water, poking 
about with a stick for crabs and mussels and nimbly 
darting eels, and skipping along the warm sands at the 
side of a big, grave, kind man. The church faded 
from view, the congregation vanished, Mr. Oates’s 
voice ceased. I was alone with my dear old friend, 
quite alone in the sunshine,, and in the gladness of my 
heart I smiled, smiled happily, smiled a welcome, and 
— he did not return it. Shall I ever forget it ? Not a 
[ 52 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


flicker of recognition, of interest, even — just that petri- 
fled stare of surprise. 

Have I ever loved the Litany so much as I buried 
my burning face in my hands ? ever been so grateful 
to it for its length ? ever loved the King and Queen 
and all the Royal Family, and the bishops and priests 
and the different people for whom we intercede, more 
devoutly ? At its close Angela had to nudge me 
to get up. I longed for that Litany to go on for- 
ever. 

How did I get through the rest of the service and the 
long, dreary sermon.'^ One thing supported me: I 
had decided to feel faint. As the last hymn was given 
out I would be seized with a sudden faintness and slip 
out of the church. Or perhaps it would be better dur- 
ing the prayer after the collection, when mother and 
Angela were not looking. Of one thing I was certain, 
I could not and would not run the risk of being banged 
up against that man at the end of the service. It 
was just the sort of thing Fate would glory in doing. 
The collection was over, the congregation was down 
on its knees, and swiftly and stealthily I crept from 
the church. 

Jonah, full of solicitude, bore down upon me in 
the porch; but I waved him aside, and taking to my 
heels, I flew — flew as I had never flown before, and 
never drawing breath till I lay on the grass beneath the 
friendly shade of the sycamore tree. 

Five minutes later mother and Angela crossed the 
[ 53 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


lawn, their faces full of burning interest and anxiety. 
In her haste mother was holding her skirt too high, 
and I felt obliged to refer to this. 

“What is it.J’ What is the matter?” they cried to- 

With a little inward gasp I realized I should have to 
tell lies. I dislike lying exceedingly. Mother herself 
is the soul of honor, and has brought us up to regard 
lying in the same light as committing murder or steal- 
ing loaves of bread. But there was Angela! How 
could I tell Angela of my humiliation ? It was impos- 
sible, insupportable. I would sooner a thousand times 
over break every one of the commandments. 

“I was not well; the church was hot,” I replied, 
looking into space. 

“Not well!” 

Their astonishment was excessive. 

“No,” I said, closing my eyes. 

“ Dear me,” observed mother. 

“How extraordinary!” ejaculated Angela. 

They stood and stared at me; my eyes were closed, 
but I knew they were staring. 

“ Your color is good,” remarked Angela at length. 

“It may be the heat,” said mother. 

I wanted to get up and kiss her, but desisted. 

“I never before knew people who were not well 
have a good color,” persisted my sister. 

“ What about apoplexy ? ” I said, opening my eyes. 

IVIother jumped. 


[ 54 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“You have not got apoplexy,” said Angela with 
decision. 

“Whatever be the matter,” interrupted mother, “I 
consider it is most foolish to lie on the grass. You 
had better go to the drawing-room sofa, and we will 
bring you your dinner there, and you shall have my 
salts and a fan. Your dear father used to be taken in 
this way.” 

“ I am feeling better now,” I murmured, as I got up. 

The prospect of the hard drawing-room sofa was 
anything but attractive. 

“Take my arm,” said mother; “it is a blessing you 
did not faint on your way home. Why did you not 
whisper to Angela ? ” 

“Angela doesn’t like whispering in church,” I said. 

“ It would not have mattered for once,” said mother, 
as she placed a woolwork cushion at the back of my 
head and held some pungent salts to my nose. 

I was kept on the sofa for the remainder of the day, 
and I think my punishment was greater than I deserved, 
for all I had done was to smile at a man and tell one 
lie to mother and Angela. One smile plus one lie 
equals one day spent on a hard sofa without springs 
listening to mother and Angela discuss our identity 
with the “ten lost tribes of Israel.” 


CHAPTER V 


An Encounter With Mr. Inderwick 

O N Tuesday afternoon I was engaged in picking 
earwigs out of the dahlias, when mother came 
out and requested me to go to Gayton for sau- 
sages, as she had heard that Eliza Slightfoot had killed 
a pig. 

I told her I was tired, and she looked surprised. 

“ What with ? ” said she ; and I had nothing to say, 
for catching earwigs is not laborious work. 

“Don’t you think it is rather early for sausages.^” 
I asked. 

“Not at all,” said mother with decision. “Eliza 
Slightfoot knows her business, and September is the 
correct month in which to kill small porkers. Don’t 
you want to go ? ” she finished, looking at me curiously. 

“Oh, yes!” I replied hastily, which made my hun- 
dred-and-seventh fib in nine days. 

“ Take Dibbs,” called out mother; and I took Dibbs, 
and he was the cause of my running up against the 
man whom I have been avoiding as I would one 
afflicted with the plague. 

Dibbs scented a rabbit. Dibbs is always scenting a 
rabbit. It would be impossible to state the number of 
[ 56 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


days on which he has not scented rabbits and been shot 
at by irate gamekeepers. Some day I shall let him be 
shot and then it will teach him a lesson. 

It was round by Gayton Hall that his nostrils first 
began to quiver and dilate and his body to tremble. 
I knew the symptoms well. 

“Dibbs,” I said sternly, “get to heel.” 

He took not the faintest notice of my command, and 
his whole body vibrated and trembled as with an 
ague. 

“ Dibbs,” I repeated still more sternly. 

More vibrations, then a sudden dart across a field 
and the vanishing of a white tail into a thicket — the 
same thicket into which it has been vanishing for many 
years, and whose geographical position I am always 
hoping he may chance to forget. 

Guns were popping in the distance from the far end 
of the stubbly field. Dibbs would be shot this time; 
my little wall-eyed fox-terrier would creep under a 
bush and bleed to death. 

“Dibbs!” I entreated, cajoled, commanded, yelled, 
till my throat was hoarse and my temper shocking. 
No response. Rapidly the different forms of punish- 
ment I would meet out to him when I did catch him 
passed through my mind — a good whipping, I would 
put him on the leash, no bones for two days, no walk 
for a week. Full of stern resolve, I was just preparing 
to scale a five-barred gate to go after him, when an 
exceedingly large and somewhat soiled-looking man 
[ 57 ] 


Uazel op heatherland 


turned the corner of the lane and bore down upon me. 
It was Mr. Inderwick. Of course it was Mr. Inder- 
wick. Have I not ever observed that should you be 
desirous of avoiding the Mr. Inderwicks of this world 
you are bound to tumble across them. It is Fate’s 
playful little way of giving you a good time. The 
population of Heatherland is seven hundred, the village 
straggles, it contains many lanes and field-paths, and 
out of the whole of that population Mr. Inderwick 
should chance to be the man to select the particular 
lane in which I was standing to prowl about like a 
tramp. 

All my shame and nervousness of him had vanished. 
I had forgotten my wide, friendly smile; I had for- 
gotten his snub. I simply felt angry — -angry that he 
should be there. 

Climbing the gate slowly, and seating myself on the 
topmost bar, I deliberately turned my back on the 
advancing figure and fell to admiring the sunset. 

He would pass, of course. He did not know me; 
and even if, by the remotest chance, he were to recog- 
nize my aggressive back, he would understand I was 
“doing” sunsets, and would naturally resent an inter- 
ruption. No one likes to be disturbed when commun- 
ing with Nature. He would appreciate this. The 
footsteps came nearer and nearer, paused, and then 
stopped just behind me. My back became as a ram- 
rod and my neck and head stiffened as in a vise. What 
impertinence ! What did he mean by daring to stop ? 

[ 58 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


He stood for a moment in silence, then he said very 
politely and very pleasantly — 

“ Good afternoon, Miss Hazel.” 

It must have been about the fraction of an inch that I 
permitted my head to turn in his direction, then “ Sir,” 
said I in tones of ice, “ you have the advantage of me.” 
I could feel his little start of surprise. 

“I beg your pardon,” said he, “but are you not — 
are you not my old friend Miss Hazel Wycherley? 
Surely I cannot be mistaken ? ” 

His voice was deep, almost gruff, but there was a 
friendly ring in it. Momentarily I relaxed; I turned 
my head round a shade further. Then my smile and 
his stare thrust themselves before my vision. If he 
knew me now, why not on Sunday ? 

“Certainly, I am Hazel Wycherley. You are not 
mistaken in my name, but — at the moment — I regret 
to say that I am unable to claim the honor of your 
friendship. You have made a mistake in that respect. 
I must bid you good afternoon,” and once again I 
turned my face to the sunset 

Now of course he would go away. No man would 
dare to stay after such a rebuff. But notliing of the 
kind; he simply came a little closer to me, leaned the 
gun he was carrying against the gate, and studied my 
profile carefully and critically. Never have I experi- 
enced anything more trying than that prolonged 
scrutiny. I felt the color rush into my cheeks and my 
hands trembled. Presently he said calmly — 

[ 59 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Yes, you are Hazel Wycherley. I thought I could 
not be mistaken. Excuse my persistence; I do not 
wish to appear rude, but — I am Robert Inderwick. 
You and I were good friends and boon companions in 
the old days, when you were quite a little girl. We 
went cockling together, and caught an eel — almost as 
big as a conger, and you gave me a beautiful book- 
marker. Now don’t you remember me ? I hope you 
do. I should be sorry — if you had forgotten me. I 
have always kept the bookmarker.” 

In spite of myself I softened. So he had kept the 
bookmarker. He had not forgotten. But why — ^why 
that frozen stare in church? Why had he humili- 
ated me in the presence of all the women of Heather- 
land? I whipped up my anger, then I turned round 
and faced him squarely, studying him with seeming 
interest. 

“Oh, is it Mr. Inderwick?” — I spoke lightly and 
with some surprise — “ the Mr. Inderwick who has come 
to live at the Old Hall Farm, and about whose move- 
ments Heatherland is all agog ? How remiss of me to 
have forgotten you ! But — ^but childish friendships 
rarely withstand the lapse of years. I — should not 
have known you. I am sorry, and — I will bid you 
good-day, sir; I am in a hurry.” 

I climbed down from the gate. Gravely he offered 
me his hand, but I refused his help. Suddenly I felt 
small, babyish, futile, ineffectual. There was a look 
of quiet amusement in the corners of his eyes and the 
[ 60 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


flicker of his firm, clean-shaven lips as, picking up his 
gun, he said — 

“I won’t detain you longer. I must apologize for 
thrusting myself upon you. I should have waited for 
a re-introduction; but — well, you were such a jolly 
little girl in the old days, and I thought you might not 
have forgotten me. I am sorry.” 

He raised his cap, and the next moment he had 
gone. 

I stamped my foot with temper as I watched his 
square figure retreating down the lane, looking for all 
the world like a solid Rock of Gibraltar which had 
been bombarded by a small popgun. I realized that 
I had not only been extremely rude, but a fool. And 
that Mr. Inderwick thought me such had showed only 
too plainly in his amused smile. 

Why did he go away so quickly ? Why do men take 
girls so literally ? He might — if he had had one grain 
of perception — have seen I was beginning to unbend 
and wanted him to stay. Men are so dense. It is 
pitiful. And now he thinks me rude, ungracious, and 
ill-bred; and so I am, all three, and an idiot into the 
bargain. Here have I been simply longing for a man 
friend for months. I am so tired of women — even our 
oil stove is feminine — it is called Consuela; and I am 
weary of Frederick Moss and his love-making and silly 
poems which always begin — 

“Oh, Hazel, of the deep blue eyes 
And hair of raven hue.” 

[ 61 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


And then the first nice man (I can see he is nice) who 
comes along and offers his hand to me in friendship, 
if I don’t go and thrust it rudely aside without offering 
any explanation for so doing, and altogether behave 
like a rude, gauche schoolgirl miss. And all because 
my vanity had been assailed, because my pride was up 
in arms, because I imagined I had been intentionally 
snubbed by a man, when — when I don’t suppose he 
even saw me, and if he did would probably think I was 
smiling at some one else, at some one beyond him, some 
one I knew well. He would never dream I could be 
smiling at him — a comparative stranger; and his look 
of surprise was purely a trick of my own imagination. 
I was a narrow, self-centred, stuck-up, country-bred 
creature, attaching vital importance to the most trifling 
events, imagining myself the hub of the universe, with 
no power of seeing beyond my own nose or getting out- 
side my own environment; the product of a village, 
and the smallest thing in it. 

I climbed over the gate, tore across the stubbly field, 
and came across Dibbs just as he was careering out of 
the thicket with a flushed look of victory about him. 
With canine instinct he instantly appreciated my frame 
of mind and temper. His tail dropped and clung to his 
hind legs, he fell flat on his stomach, and like an abject 
worm crawled across the rough stubble to meet me. 

“Yes, Dibbs,” I said, “you are going to be thrashed. 
You have got me into a fine mess, and you must suffer 
for it.” 


[ 62 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


And then I thrashed him. I hit harder than usual, 
and Dibbs seemed very surprised. He turned his poor 
wall eye upon me reproachfully, and gave a little 
whine. 

As soon as I had finished I felt remorseful, and tak- 
ing him up in my arms I kissed his poor, sore back. 
This seemed to surprise him still more, and he fell to 
licking my face. 

Then I wept over him, and this seemed to surprise 
him most, for, sitting up on his hind legs, he gave vent 
to a doleful howl. 

“Oh, Dibbs,” I moaned, putting my arms round 
his neck, “I am the most wretched girl in the world. 
I am sick of everything. I am sick of my life, I am 
sick of housework, I am sick of Heatherland, and, 
above all, I am most sick of myself,” and again dear 
old Dibbs gave a little howl of sjrmpathy. Then I 
wiped away my tears, gathered myself up, and went in 
quest of sausages. 

When I arrived home it was quite dark. The lamps 
were lit, and Angela wae singing Home, Sweet Home 
to an accompaniment of arpeggios. I fled to my room, 
and, kneeling down, I said, “ Lord, may I be something 
male in the next life. I don’t care what it is, a weazel 
even, so long as it is not female.” Then I went down 
to tea, and afterwards hemmed a new dust sheet, while 
mother read aloud extracts from a report of the Church 
Congress, in which Angela was greatly interested. 

Just before prayers my sister said — 

[ 63 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ We hear Mr. Inderwick was in church last Sunday 
week, Hazel. It was unfortunate you should have been 
taken ill that morning, as we might have spoken to him 
coming out, and as it was we didn’t even see him. 
Mrs. Moss and Mrs. Hawthorn and Mrs. Oates all 
spoke to him.” 

‘‘ Indeed,” I said. 

“ Yes. They have been making some inquiries about 
his antecedents and they are quite satisfactory, and he 
himself has been to a university, I don’t know which, 
but we shall be able to know him.” 

There was a ring of patronage in Angela’s voice 
which exasperated me. 

“How nice for him,” I said gently. 

She raised her eyes from her sewing. 

“Yes, it is a great advantage to a young man to be 
received into good families,” she answered. 

“ Is ours good ? We have a cousin who is a draper,” 
I observed. 

Angela looked shocked. 

“Only by marriage,” she said quickly. “He is no 
blood relation, and we have never even seen him.” 

“ I should like to know him. A draper in the family 
would be very useful,” I said softly. 

She did not answer, and, reaching out the Bible and 
Prayer-book, rang the bell for the servants with un- 
usual strength. 


CHAPTER VI 


I Go on a Visit to Aunt Menelophe 

I AM visiting Step-aunt Menelophe, and am seated 
before a bright little wood fire — as the evenings 
are chilly — in a lovely, romantic bedroom called 
“The Ghost Room.” Aunt Menelophe thought I 
should be nervous to sleep here alone, as it is down 
a winding sort of corridor, quite a good way from all 
the other bedrooms; but as soon as ever she told me 
about it I begged to be put here. I said, “ It’s not often 
that one gets a chance of sleeping in a real ghost room 
at an old hall, and it would be a shame to allow such 
an opportunity for romance to be wasted.” 

And Aunt Menelophe smiled, and ordered a fire to 
be lit each evening to keep me company. So far noth- 
ing has happened, and I really don’t know what I 
ought to expect, as everybody in the house seems 
divided as to the real legend of the room. The butler 
says a goat with two tails should clank through the 
place in chains at twelve o’clock at night. He does not 
give any reason for its doing this. Aunt Menelophe 
says it should be a woman dressed in white (I often 
think what an expensive item a ghost’s laundry must 
be, as it is always composed of white), who takes up 
0 [ 65 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


a position at the foot of the bed and then groans three 
times. And Butterby — who is aunt’s youngest son — 
says it should be an enormous toad with a man’s head, 
three hundred years old, which crawls on to your 
bed and spits three times, and then vanishes through the 
bed and floor. I must say I like the sound of the toad 
the least, especially as it appears to have vulgar habits. 

Up to the present — and I have been here for four 
days — nothing spectral, bogey, repulsive, uncanny, 
cadaverous, or grewsome has appeared. I fasten my 
eyes on all the little, dim, ghostly corners of the room, 
rendered more uncanny by the flickering light of the 
dying fire, but I see nothing. My eyes begin to get tired 
and heavy; I nod and doze, and blink and nod, and 
dream little funny dreams, till sleep overpowers me, 
and I know nothing more till Parkins rouses me with 
morning tea. 

If any one had told me ten days ago that I should be 
staying with Aunt Menelophe and sitting up here in 
the famous ghost room writing to-night, I should have 
said that person had a most powerful imagination. 

It happened this way. One morning last week 
mother received a letter from Aunt Menelophe, who 
is father’s eldest step-sister. This was the letter 

“The Hall, Blongton, Staffs., 
^‘September 23d, . 

“My dear Elizabeth: 

“It is many years since we met, and you and I 
are now widows, and I trust are each bearing our loss 
[ 66 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

with fortitude. My husband was a martyr to gout. 
It was a happy release when he was taken. Yours 
was one of those rare men whose language was 
as controlled as his temper. John Wycherley was 
God’s eighth creation. Your loss was heaven’s 
gain. 

“I believe you have two nice daughters. I have 
three moderately satisfactory sons. The eldest — 
Wellesley — is in London on a paper. The second — 
Dick — is supposed to be living at home. I see him 
when he is ill and occasionally on Sundays. I rise 
late and go to bed early. The youngest — Butterby, a 
family name — is a naturalist. In his spare time he 
manages the Swedgwood Pottery Works, and often 
expresses his surprise at the manner in which the 
Americans forge ahead. Possibly America does not 
grow moths and butterflies. 

“You will gather from this I am somewhat lone- 
ly. The Lord thought fit to remove my only daugh- 
ter. I do not question His ways. Just now I am de- 
pressed after a long illness. Will you lend me one of 
your daughters for three weeks — the livelier of the two 
for choice ^ I will return her at the expiration of that 
period. I will do the best I can to render her visit 
pleasant. Blongton is not a gay place. It makes pots, 
and exists beneath a heavy pall of smoke. All our 
energies are concentrated in removing the dirt from 
our persons and houses, so we have no superfluous 
strength for festivities. An occasional dinner party is 
our only relaxation, and that is very occasional. I feel 
I must tell you this, so that if one of your daughters 

[ 67 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


should take pity on a lonely old woman she will be 
under no misapprehension. 

“Your affectionate step-sister-in-law, 

“Menelophe Menzies.’* 

“P.S. — Next Tuesday would suit me. There is a 
good train from Birkenhead at one o’clock. Change 
at Crewe. The dog-cart shall meet her. Only one 
dinner gown necessary. I wonder if you wear caps. — 
M. M.” 

We read this letter through three times, and then 
Angela said, “ What a calm person ! ” 

“Yes,” said mother, “she was always peculiar, and 
fond of your father ” (mother didn’t know she had said 
anything in the least funny). “She was very clever 
and extraordinarily handsome as a young woman.” 

“And,” said I,“I like her. Any one who said such 
a thing about father must be nice.” 

“Very well, then,” said mother, “you shall be the 
one to go.” 

This rapid decision on mother’s part, without con- 
sulting Angela, astonished and delighted me. I could 
have jumped for joy. I panted to get away from 
Heatherland and that objectionable, horrid man. 
Could anything have been more opportune But I 
mustn’t appear too keen, or Angela, as the elder, might 
think it was her duty to go and cheer up Aunt Menel- 
ophe, and Angela is faithful to duty. I must dissemble. 

“But I am not lively, mother, and I don’t think I 
want to go,” I asserted. 


[683 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Yes, you are; you are very lively — boisterous, 
almost, at times. We should be very dull without you. 
But lately you have seemed depressed, and have not 
even gone blackberrying. You evidently want a 
change,” finished mother conclusively, and she looked 
toward Angela for support. 

“ But, mother,” I cried, “ it will be too awful to go 
and feel I must be a drawing-room entertainment, a 
clown at a pantomime, and a performing dog at a fair 
rolled in one, just for Aunt Menelophe’s amusement. 
I should be worn to a shadow in three weeks.” 

“No, you wouldn’t. Just be your natural, bright, 
happy self, and Aunt Menelophe will be quite satis- 
fied.” (There are times when I love mother much 
more than at others.) 

“But wouldn’t Angela like to go?” I inquired 
politely. 

“No, thank you,” replied my elder sister. “Life is 
too serious, to my thinking, to be spent in laughing 
and giggling and being funny. Besides, too, I couldn’t 
be spared. There are my old women and Sunday- 
school class, and the walnuts to pickle — they are just 
ripe.” 

“Well, that settles it,” said mother. “Hazel must 
be ready to start by Tuesday morning at eight o’clock. 
She will have some time to wait at Birkenhead for the 
train, but that can’t be helped. I couldn’t afford cabs, 
even if there were any; but she shall have a new dinner 
gown — as Aunt Menelophe calls it, though I like the 
[ 69 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


old-fashioned word ‘ dress ’ better — out of the sundries 
money tin box, and Reas, of Basnett Street, shall make 
it/’ 

Then mother got out her three purses and four tin 
boxes and plunged into a labyrinth of ways and means, 
and I could see that she thought that gown would 
land us in the bankruptcy court before we could look 
round. 

“But you shall have it. Hazel,” she said, with an 
effort at cheerfulness; “you shan’t disgrace your 
father’s family.” 

And I was ready at eight o’clock on Tuesday morn- 
ing. Wild horses would not have prevented my being 
ready. I was up at six, and when I went to the window 
to feast my eyes, as usual, on my dear Dee and blue 
Welsh hills, they were nowhere to be seen. There had 
been a sharp frost in the night, and now great banks 
of white mist blotted out the entire landscape; the 
fields, the Old Hall Farm, the river, and the hills — 
all had gone. The lawn lay dimly in front of me, and 
the brilliant-colored flowers of autumn — dahlias, holly- 
hocks, snapdragons, and phlox — stood out from the 
mist like spectres, and the love-lies-bleeding, lying in 
the soaking-wet grass, looked as though it had had a 
night out. I went to the bath room, and then the sun 
rose and gleamed redly through the whiteness. And 
it gleamed and turned from red to gold and from gold 
to silver, and quickened and sprang into life, and 
glowed and burned and threw out level rays of heat 
[ 70 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


upon the mist. And the mist, instead of evaporating 
slowly, seemed to solidify and build itself up into great 
banks and mountains of cloud, which rolled and swept 
and rolled away along the valley and lost themselves 
in space. And the beauty of the world stood forth re- 
vealed, and the sun shone upon millions of mist-drops 
which lay sparkling upon tree and bush and flower 
and grass. 

When I was dressed I looked across at the Old Hall 
Farm and the two fir-trees and shook my fist at 
them. And I chuckled and chorted from sheer joy. 
“ I don’t care a fig what you think of me,” I cried. “ I 
am going away for three whole weeks; so there! I 
don’t care a button about you!” Then I read my 
Scripture portion, and went down and devoured two 
eggs and a rasher of bacon. 

Mother waved to me from the gate as I and my 
trunk containing the new gown climbed on to the 
box seat of the ’bus — which runs daily between Heath- 
erland and Birkenhead — by Jerry the driver, and 
Sammy flapped a red handkerchief at me as we spanked 
along past the grassy dell and apple-trees at the further 
end of the garden. 

We always spank at first — the horses are fresh, and 
the guard — Billy Rutter, aged twelve — blows a horn 
as big as himself; but by the time we have mounted 
our third hill, the horses — ^which are really very weedy 
rats, though I shouldn’t like to say so to Jerry — are 
blowing like bassoons. We picked up two or three 
[ 71 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


passengers — mostly market women — on Heatherland 
Hill, a business man in a bowler hat — not one of “ the 
families ” — by the old mill, and two more at Barnston. 
But our load was not heavy, and it was not necessary 
to get off and push the ’bus up the last hill, as is some- 
times our custom. 

It was pleasant swinging through the still, leafy 
lanes, with the scent of early autumn — one of the most 
delicious scents in the world — greeting our nostrils on 
every side; with beech-nuts and acorns pattering like 
raindrops on to the moist ground, and little yellow 
birch leaves fluttering through the air; with scarlet- 
berried briony, and flaming hips and haws, and crim- 
son-leaved brambles and shining blackberries, and a 
tangle of traveller’s joy peeping at you from every 
hedgerow. 

I thought of Aunt Menelophe’s remark, “We live 
beneath a heavy pall of smoke.” Should I see a tree 
in the Potteries? Not that I should have cared if it 
had been treeless and grassless and flowerless within 
a ten-mile radius. I always lived with these things, 
and to be without them for three weeks would be a 
change. If Aunt Menelophe had suggested my visiting 
her in the Sahara Desert, I should have assented with 
avidity. I was just in the mood to go away. Two 
years had elapsed since I had stepped from home. 
I knew the look of every stick and stone on the place. 
If one of Elizabeth’s saucepan lids had been on the 
nail where the potato-masher usually hangs, I should 
[ 72 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


have noticed it. It was time I got away for a bit. I 
was becoming groovy, and, above all, I wanted to 
avoid the possibility of meeting a large, extremely dis- 
agreeable man, till I felt less bad about him. 

The dog-cart met me at Blongton Station. It has 
lovely yellow wheels and is as high as a house. The 
coachman touched his hat to me as though I had 
been an empress. I reflected that Sammy never 
touched his hat to anybody, and that I must speak 
to him about it on my return. I don’t know how my 
trunk was conveyed to the house, but I found it waiting 
in my room all unstrapped as though it had been 
there for years. 

Aunt Menelophe met me at the door, and taking 
my two hands in hers, kissed me on both cheeks. 
Then she led me beneath the light and studied me 
carefully and critically. I wriggled a bit under this 
long scrutiny. I felt as an insect must feel beneath a 
microscope, and longed to get away from the vicinity 
of James the butler, who was pretending not to look, 
but was all the time peeping at me through a mirror. 

“You’ll do,” said Aunt Menelophe at last. “Your 
eyes are a treat — I never saw such a color — seem to 
have caught up all the blue of sky and sea, and forget- 
me-nots and harebells, and sapphires and ” 

“Blue-bottles.” I am almost certain I heard James 
mutter, and I drew quickly away from aunt’s grasp. 
I turned and looked at him searchingly, but his face 
was as the face of the Sphinx. 

[ 73 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Yes, your eyes are wonderful and your skin is 
perfect, but your hat’s a fright — a perfect fright, my 
dear child; let me implore of you to hide it away in 
your trunk and never wear it again in my presence. 
It makes me positively ill.” 

I giggled from pure enjoyment. I began to like 
Aunt Menelophe tremendously. 

“I am sorry, Aunt Menelophe,” I began gravely, 
“ but I have only one other hat, which is my best one, 
for calls and Sundays ; and I couldn’t think of wearing 
it every d ” 

“Very well, then,” interrupted Aunt Menelophe, 
“we will buy another to-morrow. I couldn’t live 
with that atrocity. Now come in to tea.” 

She led the way to a room bright with firelight, and 
warm with lovely colors on walls and floor and furni- 
ture. An oak bookcase ran the entire length of the 
room, and the pictures were all soft red pastels and 
beautiful sepias. 

She handed me tea in the daintiest of Crown Derby 
cups, remarking I must want it badly. “Tea is a 
woman’s greatest solace,” said she. “I am convinced 
one of the most completely satisfying things in life is 
a freshly made cup of tea — China and Ceylon in equal 
proportions — with plenty of good cream, taken at four 
o’clock in the afternoon, in a comfortable chair, before 
a bright fire. But perhaps you are too young to appre- 
ciate luxuries. At your age I didn’t want luxuries. I 
only wanted young men, pretty frocks, and plenty of 
[ 74 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


dancing. They were necessities, not luxuries. Now 
I like well-cooked food, freshly made tea, a warm, 
comfortable bed with good springs, a bright fire, well- 
trained servants” (I thought of James), “a good novel, 
and a young, interesting person with whom to talk 
when I am so disposed. I believe I could talk to you, 
as you appear to be a good listener.” 

I smiled vacuously, and reflected that so far I had 
not had an opportunity of being anything else. Aunt 
Menelophe pounced on my thought immediately. 

*‘You shall talk to-morrow,” said she. “I never 
talk in a morning, or up till four o’clock. I am too 
depressed. I only exist. But as soon as ever I have 
had one cup of tea I begin to live.” 

“ Why not have it for breakfast, then ? ” I queried. 

“No,” she said quickly. “Don’t suggest such a 
thing. Coffee is the correct drink for breakfast. I 
couldn’t think of altering it at my time of life. But 
what was I saying? I was talking of luxuries and 
comfort, wasn’t I? I never go out now. I gave up 
society when I became a looker-on and ceased to be 
admired. Women become lookers-on when they have 
turned forty. As soon as a woman — who has once been 
beautiful — becomes conscious of wrinkles, and wants 
to sit with her back to the light, she is better at home, 
and much happier. There is no occasion for her then 
to worry about getting stout, or her complexion going, 
or crow’s-feet coming. Her children don t notice these 
things, and if her husband does he is too wise to say so. 

[ 75 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


She paused to give me some more tea and hot toast. 
I sat and gasped quietly. Never had I heard such 
sentiments. I pictured mother and Angela discussing 
pickled walnuts at home. How infinitely more inter- 
esting were the delightful things Aunt Menelophe was 
sa)dng! I had never enjoyed myself so much in my 
life. And what a beautiful person she was, with her 
white hair piled high on her head, and her dark eyes, 
and the lovely old lace on her soft, gray gown, and her 
pinky cheeks. I wanted to get up and hug her, but I 
thought she might not like it, as I had only known her 
about three-quarters of an hour. I lay back in the 
deep arm-chair, which was drawn up by the bright 
little wood fire, and absorbed the beauty of the room. 
Had money only achieved it, or was it the result of 
good taste ? I reflected there must be an inch at least 
of padding beneath the thick Turkey carpet to give one 
such a sensation as I had experienced in walking over 
it. It had felt like compressed moss, one foot in depth. 
I thought of the worn Brussels at home, covered over 
with faded patches of magenta roses; and our mottled 
marble mantelpieces all got up and hit me in the face 
as I marvelled at the carving of the old oak mantel- 
shelf in front of me. I noted the form and color of the 
old blue bowls and pots, and the richness of the big 
copper candlesticks and three-handled jars. Where 
were the bronze horses and spill pots, and candelabra 
and glass lustres, and Parian jugs ? Perhaps I should 
find some of them later on in the drawing-room. I 
[ 76 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


should feel lonely without a Parian jug, and should 
almost forget what a white bunch of grapes set about 
with white roses would look like. And where was the 
vast mahogany sideboard, with its gorgeous, shiny 
mirror Surely this quaint, fantastic, carven oak sort 
of dresser arrangement was not supposed to be a side- 
board. Why, proper, well-conducted, heavy, impor- 
tant, made-to-last-a-century sideboards would blush to 
be in the company of such an impostor! I gave a little 
sigh as I looked at the delicious, soft, plain, rich 
blue walls around me and thought of the crimson 
and pink and gold flowery papers at home, and felt 
very depressed. Then I gave myself a big mental 
shake. 

“Hazel Wycherley, you are a cad, a low-down 
cad!” I said. “Here the very best and kindest and 
most unselfish mother in the world allows you to come 
and stay with Aunt Menelophe, and gives you all the 
money out of the ‘sundries box’ for a new evening 
frock, which money she had been saving for weeks 
toward having the drawing-room chairs and couch 
re-covered — the rose-red damask of same being faded 
almost white — and you just sit and grumble, and moan 
and pity yourself, because your home is plain and 
ordinary and comfortable, and doesn’t run to velvet- 
piled carpets and blue bowls. You ought to be ashamed 
of yourself, and you want a good beating.” 

I felt that I must go straightway upstairs to my 
room and write and tell mother that she was the very 
[ 77 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


sweetest and best mother an ungrateful, selfish girl 
ever possessed, and sprang to my feet, when 

“Of whom are you thinking so earnestly. Hazel?” 
said Aunt Menelophe, taking my hand; “and where 
are you going? Your face has been as grave as a 
judge’s for the last five minutes, and you are very 
like your father. You sat there with your eyes fixed on 
the fire, and I could see all your thoughts chasing each 
other across your face. And then up you jumped — 
just in the old impulsive way of John Wycherley — 
bent upon doing something straightway at the moment. 
What was it ? ” 

“I was going up to write to mother,” I said awk- 
wardly. “Do you remember mother. Aunt Menel- 
ophe ? ” I added with a jerk. 

“Yes,” said Aunt Menelophe. “She was a singu- 
larly honorable woman, and very unselfish. She might 
have possessed other virtues and vices, but her honesty 
was so pronounced that it dwarfed everything else in 
her character, and she believed that it was right to give 
the tenth part of her income to the poor. Does she 
still believe it ? ” 

“Yes,” I said, “and does it, and the poor are not 
in the least grateful.” 

“They never are,” pronounced Aunt Menelophe 
emphatically. “They are a lying, drinking, ungrate- 
ful, thriftless set of impostors, who are educated free, 
hospitalled free, vaccinated free; who have no rates 
and taxes to pay, no income tax, no appearances to 
[ 78 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


keep up, and who spend — I have forgotten how much 
they spend, but I know it’s something colossal — ^per 
head per year on drink. And not a thing, not a single 
thing is done for the poor little hard-working govern- 
ess, who for her old age has the workhouse staring her 
in the face, or — or for delicate, decayed gentlewomen, 
who through no fault of their own — owing to their 
numerical superiority over men — have not married; 
or ” 

Aunt Menelophe stopped for breath, and I broke 
in 

“Aunt Menelophe, what you are saying is quite 
wrong and out of date. I am a great Liberal of John 
Bright’s and Gladstone’s following, and a Free Trad- 
er.” (I swelled with pride, though I didn’t know what 
it meant. Father had told me I must be one, and I 
always intended obeying him.) '"Reform and Progress 
are our two great watchwords. I cannot agree with 
what you say. Help the poor little governess, but do 
not do less for the workingman. The workingman 
is the backbone of our great empire, and he must be 
fed and educated and physicked.” 

I sat down, and felt that if I had been a man I 
should have been a great politician and probably an 
orator; and all Aunt Menelophe did was to breal: 
into fits of laughter. 

“Child,” she cried, “you are a treat!” Then she 
went off into more fits, and I was just trying to decide 
whether I would be annoyed or pleased, when a young, 
[ 79 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


stoopy man walked into the room and crossed to the 
bookcase without seeing me. Aunt Menelophe, still 
chuckling, said, “Hazel, this is your Cousin Butterby. 
Butterby, come and speak to your step-cousin. Miss 
Hazel Wycherley, who is a great Liberal and Free 
' Trader.” 

Butterby came very close to me, and peered into my 
face as though he half expected to find a new kind of 
moth. He wears glasses, and his hair is endy. 

“ How do you do ^ ” said he. 

And when I had given him the desired information 
he stood first on one foot and then on the other, and 
looked exceedingly unhappy. Then an inspiration 
came. 

“ Are you interested in entomology, or have you any 
special hobby?” 

“Yes,” I replied gravely; “I am fond of crochet 
work, and have made a lot of antimacassars.” 

He regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, and 
then with a sigh left the room. 

“Poor Butterby,” said Aunt Menelophe; “he is 
very eccentric, but has a good heart. I never could 
understand how he came to be my child.” 

And she, too, sighed heavily, and then sent me to 
my room, where I wrote a letter to mother four pages 
long. 


[ 80 ] 


CHAPTER VII 


I Receive a Letter from Mother and Some Good Adv^e 
on Dress from Aunt Menelophe 

I HAVE been here a fortnight, and the days have 
simply flown. Aunt Menelophe is a perfect pet. 
And the old house — ^with its rambling corridors 
and wide stone staircase and twenty-two bedrooms — 
is simply delightful. And when you are in the large 
old garden and shady avenue it is hard to believe you 
are within a stone’s-throw of the Potteries. 

With the Potteries I have fallen in love. They are 
ugly and smoky and filthy, but they fascinate me. 
When the gentle hand of night has cast a darkness 
over “the five towns” and covered up the squalor, I 
love to gaze at the lurid, bright eyes of the furnaces, 
the fires of which are never allowed to die out. They 
seem to gleam and wink at you from the darkness, and 
make you think of the infernal regions and Mephis- 
topheles and the river Styx, and all sorts of shudder- 
ingly awful things. And I shiver over the poor man 
who was accidentally shut up in one of the big ovens 
and baked with the china. 

Aunt Menelophe and I go somewhere every day in 
6 [ 81 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


the carriage. We have “done” Trentham and In- 
gestre, which are lovely; and one day we went to 
Rudyard Lake, where Kipling was born. I feel tre- 
mendously braced-up for the change, and regard with 
equanimity the meeting of that man. 

I had a letter from mother this morning. They are 
having an autumn cleaning, and have seen Mr. Inder- 
wick twice. They called on him the day after I left. 
Personally, I think it is a little forward for two women 
— one a widow and the other a spinster — to go calling 
on a bachelor; and at least they might have waited till 
my return — not that I should have thought of calling 
with them, but, well, I should have been there to look 
after the house, and restrict the servants in their gos- 
siping. Mother says 

“We were pleased to have your long, interesting 
letter, in which you made two spelling mistakes. 
Walnut is spelled with one 1 and 'parallel with two. 
Your composition is so good that it seems a pity you 
cannot overcome your weakness in spelling. 

“We have seized the opportunity during your ab- 
sence to have the autumn cleaning done. Sammy, 
Rose, Elizabeth, and old Williams are engaged in shak- 
ing the carpets, and I got in a barrel of beer for the 
occasion. Williams is such an excellent worker that, 
though I greatly disapprove of his craving for beer, I 
am obliged to yield to it, otherwise I know he would 
not beat properly. 

“ The pickled walnuts have turned out well. Angela 
[ 82 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


is now engaged on eschalots, and when they are 
finished she will begin the cauliflowers and gherkins. 

“She insists upon all the cornices and picture-rails 
being lightly washed over with vinegar to-morrow, 
which I think is a little unnecessary, as they were done 
so recently. But she says there will be fly-marks upon 
them, and she may be right. 

“It appears somewhat unseemly to me that your 
Aunt Menelophe should not wear caps at her time of 
life. I began them ten years ago, and she is twelve 
years my senior. However, she was always rather 
outre in her style of dressing her hair. She would not 
part it down the middle, neither would she wear a 
comb, which I remember was much commented upon. 

“ My accounts have been worrying me a little. Some 
new sort of tax paper has come in. The money will go 
to the schools. I do not grudge it at all ; but it is diiBB- 
cult to know under which column in the debit account 
to place it; and it also means another tin box to be 
kept, and the lock-up drawer is already full to the 
bursting-point. 

“Your sister and I called upon Mr. Inderwick yes- 
terday. We had heard that Mrs. Oates and several of 
the residents intended doing so this week, so Angela 
said we would be first in the field. Why, I don’t know; 
but she seemed to wish it, so I consented. I wore my 
new winter bonnet, which was inclined to slip a little 
to the back of my head, giving me a somewhat jaunty 
air, so I must have the shape altered. Although it had 
struck four o’clock when we called, the maidservant 
was not dressed, which we thought disgraceful. She 
[ 83 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

had on her dirty, coarse apron and print dress and no 
cap, and I reflected upon Rose’s appearance with 
pleasure. When we asked if Mr. Inderwick were at 
home she hesitated for a moment, and then led us to a 
bare room — I mean it contained very little furniture — 
where Mr. Inderwick stood in his shirt-sleeves putting 
up a bookcase. He did not seem in the least discon- 
certed, which I thought showed good breeding, and he 
gave us a very kind welcome. After asking us to sit 
down, and not observing there were no chairs upon 
which to sit, he asked me what I thought of his new 
bookcase. Privately I thought it was extremely ugly; 
it was so high and ran round the entire room, so I said 
it appeared commodious. He laughed and said it was 
made of solid oak. He appeared very proud of it, and 
kept forgetting we were there. When we made a move 
to go he said we must have some tea, and when we de- 
clined and said we were afraid our call had been a little 
premature, he said ‘ nonsense ’ in such a loud tone that 
it quite startled us. He took us to another room, 
where presently an old woman — Mrs. Egerton — 
brought in tea. She seemed a respectable sort of 
person. He forgot to give me any cream and Angela 
sugar, and when we passed up our cups he gave me 
the sugar and Angela the cream, but we did not like to 
draw his attention to the fact. Just as we were leaving 
he suddenly said, ‘Where is Miss Hazel and when 
I told him, he asked how long you would be away. 
Angela says she doesn’t think it’s good form to ask 
such abrupt questions. But probably he has lived a 
good deal alone, and so missed the refining influence of 
[ 84 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


women. He has a cultured voice and a singularly fine 
appearance, but his manners are not polished. He sat 
for quite half an hour in his shirt-sleeves, and then 
when he became cognizant of this I will give him 
credit that he seemed quite overcome and hastened out 
of the room for his coat, which had a big paint-mark 
on the sleeve. He said he hoped to have the pleasure 
of returning our call at an early date. Perhaps you 
will be at home then. It seems funny you should 
have not yet met, when you were such friends some 
years ago. Angela desires her love, and 

“I remain 

“Your affectionate Mother.” 

I went down to breakfast feeling thoroughly annoyed. 
If the rest of Heatherland should gush and run after 
this man, why should mother and Angela do the same ? 

“ What is the matter ? ” said Aunt Menelophe. 

She has the eye of a hawk and the discernment of a 
judge. 

“ Nothing,” I replied. 

“You don’t lie well,” said she. “People with blue 
eyes are rarely good fibbers. Have some coffee, and 
then tell me all about it.” 

And I told her. And what I kept back she found 
out by ferreting. 

“ You acted like a little fool,” said she. 

“ Yes,” I replied. “ Rub it in.” 

She laughed. 

“Poor little girl,” and she laid her hand on mine. 

[ 85 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“But don’t attach too much importance to it. Go 
back and be natural, and speak to him the next time 
you meet. If he be a decent man — he sounds nice — 
he won’t let you feel that he once saw you at a disad- 
vantage, and the inside of your character instead of 
your out.” (I winced.) “Men are really very chival- 
rous to women. I often wonder how they put up with 
our petty ways,” and she sighed. 

“I have never known any men,” I remarked; “only 
father and Sammy and Frederick Moss.” 

“ No,” said she, “ so I should imagine.” 

“ What do you think of them ? ” I ventured. 

“As a class,” said Aunt Menelophe, “men are 
better than women, with larger minds, and more gen- 
erous instincts. But women are decidedly more 
interesting.” 

I opened my mouth wide at such a proposition. 

“ Women more interesting ? ” 

“Yes,” said my aunt, “a woman is the most inter- 
esting, complex, unexpected sort of creature God has 
created. She has a weakish body, an intellect not too 
brilliant, sound judgment, a great capacity for imbib- 
ing ” — I giggled, and Aunt Menelophe fixed me sternly 
— “I mean great receptive powers, no constructive 
ability, a character with one hundred and fifty sides to 
it, and her moods and whims are beyond counting, for 
they are legion.” 

“I see,” I remarked meekly, and handed some 
bacon to Butterby, who was peering round the table 
[ 86 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


for jam. And he ate it in a dream, making his third 
helping. 

“ What do you think of women, Butterby ^ ” I asked. 

“ Eh ? I ? Why, I think women are mostly fools,’* 
he said, with the greatest show of promptitude I have 
yet seen him display. And he then returned to the 
insect book he was reading. 

I don’t think I care overmuch* for Butterby, and 
Dick I have scarcely seen. He is engaged. His 
fiancee is sweetly pretty and amiable, and her voice 
is so gentle that when she speaks you feel as though 
you were in church. They are a very devoted couple, 
and Aunt Menelophe says she is the type of woman 
who will have fifteen children and sob her eyes out 
the first evening her husband is late home. 

Aunt Menelophe is quite the nicest and cleverest 
and most beautiful of the lot. She has a sharp tongue, 
which only conceals the kindest, biggest heart. She 
is always helping “lame dogs over stiles,” and has 
given me the loveliest pale blue, soft beaver hat, with 
a glorious long black feather, and a creamy, fluffy, silk 
tea-gown. I picture myself floating round Heather- 
land in a tea-gown, and chuckle. The entire parish 
would climb on front seats to stare at me, and Angela 
would have a fit on the spot. Aunt Menelophe says 
I should live in blue. She tells me this quite once a 
day. 

“ Dress to the color of your eyes and hair,” said she, 
when I was trying on the hat at Rookfield’s in Stafford. 

[ 87 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“It is a safe rule to go by. You look dreadful in that 
pink.” 

It was the shrimpy frock. 

“I see. And as my eyes are blue and my hair is 
nearly black, I suppose a blue and black check would 
do for my new winter costume — a nice big check?” 
said I. 

Aunt Menelophe simply snorted. 

“ Checks were an invention — not] of the devil, but of 
some grasping, economical cloth manufacturer who 
wanted to use up his odds and ends of wool. He 
should have been strung up. Imagine a woman in 
ancient Greece wearing a check chess-board robe with 
a girdle round it ! And people say we have progressed ! 
No, never wear checks if you desire to be known as 
a well-dressed woman. Cultivate flowing lines, sim- 
plicity in form, and really good colors. Don’t heaj) 
things on your person; don’t look like an escaped 
bazaar. When I see women dangling chains and 
trinkets and chatelaines and ribbons and velvets, and 
dabbing rosettes and bows and ruchings on every spare 
place, I yearn to pluck them as you would a fowl. And 
v^hen you get to my age wear soft tones of gray. Gray 
blends and harmonizes with faded faces and eyes. It 
softens the lines and gives an effect of mellowness. 
Whatever women may say to you, don’t pass your 
entire existence in black. Black should be an elderly 
woman’s bugbear. It accentuates wrinkles and sal- 
lowness and flabby chins. It shows up sunken cheeks 
[ 88 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and knobbly jaw-bones, and forms a striking back- 
ground for the stout chin of the three-decker character. 
But put her in soft mauves and grays, with rich, old, 
champagne-colored lace at her throat, and you will 
forget she is old. Her younger women friends will be 
bound to say she dresses in much too juvenile a style 
and is aping to be young. There has scarcely been a 
woman in this world who has not said that some other 
woman dresses too young. It is a way she has.” 

Then Aunt Menelophe floated, in an atmosphere of 
soft, gray cloth and chinchilla and velvet, crowned by 
her lovely gray hair, to the waiting cab, and as she said 
“ The station, driver,” I felt proud to belong to her. 

“What a time it must have taken you to learn all 
this, Aunt Menelophe!” I remarked. 

“Yes,” she replied, with a little sigh, “it has. I am 
sixty-five. And the trouble is that just as your accu- 
mulated experience and knowledge are becoming use- 
ful to you, somebody comes along and measures you 
for your coffin. Then there is a funeral, flowers on 
your grave for about five anniversaries, and then you 
are forgotten. Let me see, I didn’t show you Stafford, 
did I ? But there is nothing to show. Stafford is noted 
for boots, and you wouldn’t want to see boots, would 
you ? And I fancy Izaak Walton did something here 
once, but I can’t remember what it was till we have 
had some tea. I ordered tea to be ready at the works ; 
at least, I told Butterby to order it. I arranged with a 
confectioner always to send in tea to the office when I 
[ 89 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


am there. You see,” she went on, “Butterby is sup- 
posed to explain things to visitors, but he never does. 
In fact, he generally wanders off when we are about 
half-way through, and so I have to instruct them in the 
making of china, and must have tea to brace me up. 
What I don’t know about the manufacture I make up, 
and it’s most interesting to see their faces. The women 
always sigh over the dippers. They think it is the right 
and humane thing to do. They have read somewhere 
that a dipper’s work is unhealthy and dangerous, and 
even shortens life; and they always seem to be under 
the impression that a dipper will turn into a corpse 
before their eyes. They say sympathetic things and 
talk of the dangers of glass-blowing and match-making 
all in the same breath. And when I say, ‘My dear 
ladies, if they die it is generally their own faults, through 
not observing the precautions laid down for them,’ they 
think I am very heartless and a brute. Really, I am 
awfully sorry for some of the working people of Eng- 
land — not so much for the men as for the women. 
What a grind some of the women have ! One round of 
babies and incessant hard work which never ends. A 
man comes in at the end of the day ; he is tired, but his 
work is finished. The wife is tired, too, only more so; 
but she is not finished, and never will be. No wonder 
women take to drink. I should too — I should soak in 
it!” 

As Aunt Menelophe gives vent to this awful state- 
ment her face is wrinkled up in the kindest, sweetest 
[ 90 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


smile imaginable, and one could picture her doing 
many kind deeds for those women and babies. 

“Dear me,” she cried as we were driving from the 
station to the works, “we nearly ran over Butterby. 
That boy gives me such shocks. He caused me to 
break one of the old Wedgwood cups one day by 
suddenly grabbing at my arm with great violence, 
because he imagined there was some sort of rare but- 
terfly seated on my sleeve. It turned out to be a bit of 
silk. I was very angry, and ordered some stronger 
glasses for him. I wonder what he is doing loitering in 
the road ? Probably in search of some insect. And I 
told him we should be there at four. Perhaps he has 
been called out on some special business, and will turn 
up later.” 

“ He did not look like business,” I ventured. 

“ No,” snapped Aunt Menelophe, “ he looked like a 
tramp who is afraid he may find work.” Then she 
closed her lips tightly and stared at the landscape, 
which consisted of chimneys, furnaces, and dirt. 

When we arrived at the works there was no Butterby 
and no tea. I looked fearfully at Aunt Menelophe, 
and at the sight of her the small clerk in the office 
shrivelled up. 

“Stop the cab,” she said with composure, and the 
clerk and I collided with violence at the door and 
yelled “Hi!” The cab “hied,” and we drove home. 

“I will try and get up sufficient energy to attacl; 
them another day,” she said when we were seated in 
[ 91 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


the moming-room waiting for tea. “In the mean 
time I will lend you a book on the manufacture of 
Staffordshire china, and Josiah Wedgwood. It will 
teach you a good deal, and should we never get to 
the works it won’t matter so much. I never talked 
so much in my life before four o’clock, and I am per- 
fectly exhausted.” Then she fell back in her armchair 
and lay with closed eyes till James appeared with the 
tea. 


m] 


CHAPTER VIII 


A Dinner Party, Followed hy My Seeing the Ghost 

L ast evening Aunt Menelophe gave a dinner party, 
and at two o’clock in the morning I saw the 
ghost. Qne on the top of the other has been 
too much for me, for I feel a perfect wreck, and have 
great, black rims under my eyes. When Parkins 
brought me my morning tea I asked her for some 
soda-water instead. She seemed very surprised, and I 
said — 

“Parkins, you would want soda-water if you had a 
thirst like mine. My mouth feels like a sawdust bin.” 

At breakfast, after we had finished discussing the 
ghost and the dinner, I remarked, tentatively, that I 
had felt very plain the previous evening, and that I did 
not think the new gown suited me. I looked inter- 
rogatively at Aunt Menelophe. 

“You look plainer this morning,” she said. 

It was not what I had expected, and I felt annoyed. 
How could any one look their best after such an awful 
night and such a shock to the system ? 

“You had better go to your room and lie down,” 
Aunt Menelophe remarked after lunch, “and I will 
send up your tea.” 


[ 93 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I accepted with alacrity. I have had a most delicious 
sleep, and feel ready for anything. I have a cosy fire, 
and am seated in a low chair in my new tea-gown, and 
feel exactly like a heroine in a novel. I look scornfully 
at my old, red dressing-gown hanging up behind the 
door; I note with disdain its embroidered, old-fash- 
ioned, scalloped frills. I scalloped them myself and 
used a penny to draw out the design, and spent the 
last of my pocket-money on silk for the button -holing. 
Now 1 don’t like scallops. I prefer soft, fluffety, chiffon 
frills billowing up all round my neck, and an empire 
train. I am tired of old-fashioned, made-to-wear-for- 
ever clothes. 

To-morrow I am going home, and must wear my 
old, brown, stuff dress once more. I can quite see it 
will never wear out, so one day I shall upset a bottle 
of ink down it, and not let mother and Angela see it till 
it is dry. It will be then too late for Angela to get out 
the stain with milk, so it will be consigned to the 
rag-bag. 

I feel in the mood to-day to marry a prince. Why 
can’t I meet a Russian prince, like a girl in a novel, 
who will shower sables, and white cloth gowns trimmed 
with ermine, and diamonds upon me? Perhaps I am 
not innocent or religious enough. I couldn’t sit for 
hours with large blue, dreamy eyes, or kneel before a 
little altar in my bedroom, or babble to the night at 
my open window. And I couldn’t be always blushing. 
It must be so trying for a “wave of scarlet to mantle 
[ 94 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


your cheek and brow” on the slightest provocation, 
and for your bosom to keep heaving and your eyes 
flashing. No, I am afraid a Russian prince wouldn’t 
care about me. 

A man last night seemed a little interested in me, 
but I felt a little nervous of him, for some reason; 
and of course we shall never meet again. He is only 
visiting down here. He lives in London, and London 
is not a place I haunt. 

But I must begin at the beginning. The dinner was 
gorgeous. I have forgotten how many courses, but 
they all seemed to be served topsy-turvy, and in the 
order the servants liked. For instance, we had hot 
shrimps rolled up in white paper ajter the sweets, which 
seemed funny. Anchovies at one end of the dinner 
and shrimps at the other! Perhaps Aunt Menelophe 
thought they would fight inside if they were served too 
near together. 

The flowers were exquisite, and lovely, scarlet Vir- 
ginian creeper leaves floated about in the finger bowls, 
and long sprays of it crawled about the table and kept 
getting mixed up in things. I saw a man drinking 
claret with a spray hanging from his moustache. It 
was so funny the way he dashed it from him, as though 
he were very angry with it. The finger bowls were 
solid silver, and silver cupids with chubby faces held 
the chrysanthemums. 

The man who took me in to dinner rather alarmed 
me at first, but I presently found he was much more 
[ 95 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


interested in his food than in me, and he snored heavily 
as he ate. I began to feel a little annoyed, but perhaps 
it was my fault. I noticed all the other women were 
chattering away like jays and sending forth peals of 
laughter, and the men were guffawing. Why didn’t 
my man guffaw ? I racked my brains for something to 
say, but nothing came. I could only think of idiotic 
questions, such as: “Do you like grouse? Are you 
fond of Dickens ? Are you married ? Do you belong 
to the Church of England ? ” None of them seemed 
suitable, and all much too familiar to put to a perfect 
stranger. 

Presently I saw Aunt Menelophe’s eye upon me. 
I could see she thought me dull. I felt desperate. 

“Do you shoot?” I flung it at him suddenly, and 
he started. 

“Eh, what’s that you say?” and he put down his 
knife and fork. 

“ Do you shoot ? ” I repeated in a louder voice. 

“ Do what ? ” and he inclined his right ear to me. 

“He’s deaf,” the man on my right whispered. 

“ Do you shoot ? ” I shouted at the top of my voice, 
my cheeks scarlet, and conscious that the whole table 
was listening. 

“ Shoot what ? ” said this great, deaf, prize idiot. 

I heard a titter. 

“Cats!” I said with sudden, deadly calmness, and 
there was a roar of laughter. 

“Ha!” 


[ 96 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


He had heard at last, and was very pleased with 
himself, and wasn’t going to let the subject drop. He 
was also a little mystified. He was a detective kind of 
man, a man who runs things to earth, and I would 
willingly have sent a shot through him. 

“Do I shoot cats?” said he. “Why, what sort of 
cats ? ” 

“ Manx,” I said with illumination. 

I felt he must be humored. Then he appeared to 
think I had said something extremely funny, and went 
off into fits of laughter, and laughed and spluttered 
till he choked. 

Why had Aunt Menelophe sent me in with such a 
creature? And the man to my right looked so inter- 
esting. I gave a little sigh, and turning to glance at 
him, our eyes met. He smiled, and showed the whitest 
set of teeth imaginable. 

‘^It’s awfully trying, shouting at a person before a 
whole dinner-table,” said he sympathetically. 

“Yes,” I replied, still feeling hot; “I never felt 
such a fool in my life. I am sorry for deaf people, 
but they are so persistent.” 

Then he turned half his back on his partner, and I 
turned the whole of mine on mine — ^which was rude 
of me, but pardonable, I thought, under the circum- 
stances — and we fell to talking. I fancy he enjoyed 
himself, and I think I must have enjoyed myself, for I 
became oblivious to my surroundings, till unexpectedly 
he struck a jarring note. He had been talking of art, 
7 [ 97 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


of music, of literature, of science — of a thousand and 
one things of which I had never even heard, and of 
which he appeared to think I knew as much as he. I 
hate to assume a knowledge of a subject — for one 
thing, you never know when you will be found out ; for 
another, it doesn’t seem aboveboard, and Aunt Menel- 
ophe says women are so deceitful — so suddenly I ob- 
served : “ I am afraid I don’t understand or appreciate 
half of what you are saying, though I am vastly inter- 
ested. But I am wofully ignorant. I was educated at 
home by a governess, and I have lived in a village, with 
women, the whole of my life.” 

It was a relief to get it out, and when he laughed softly 
and said, “How delightfully refreshing to meet such 
candor! My instinct has not played me false; I knew 
you were a little country girl when you were so upset by 
your partner’s deafness. You became so flushed and 
agitated that I said to myself, ‘This girl is from the 
country; she is fresh and worth cultivating.’” I felt 
piqued and annoyed. So he had been drawing me out ! 
He had been enjoying my gaucheries! He had been 
sounding the depths of my ignorance ! 

“And so you have been cultivating me? You have 
cast the pearls of your wisdom at the feet of a ‘little 
country girl ! ’ How extremely kind of you ! I feel like 
Esther must have felt when the sceptre was extended 
to her, and am indeed grateful.” 

I laughed, but, try as I would, I could not keep a 
note of hurt anger from my voice, and when Aunt 
[ 98 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Menelophe rose at that moment I fairly bolted from 
the room. 

When the men joined us later he walked across the 
room negligently and dropped into a seat beside me. 

“ That was a nasty cut,” he said. “ I don’t think I 
deserved it.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” I replied, beginning to bristle. “ Well, 
put it down to the want of discrimination on the part 
of a village miss.” 

“ I am very sorry if I have offended you by what I 
said. I did not mean to be patronizing. I always say 
exactly what I think, and you struck me as being quite 
the freshest and most straightforward girl I had met 
for many a long month. It did not seem to me a 
breach of good manners to tell you so.” 

I felt somewhat mollified. 

‘‘But I am not straightforward.” 

“ Well, nobody is,” he said reassuringly. 

“Yes, mother is,” I said quickly; and then I could 
have bitten my tongue out, for he began to laugh 
again gently. 

“ Who is mother ? ” he asked. 

“Look here,” I replied, my temper again rising, 
“if we are to continue our conversation please do not 
laugh at every word I utter in that quizzical, amused 
sort of way. Perhaps you do not mean it as such, 
perhaps I am unduly sensitive, but all the time I feel 
you are making fun of me, and I don’t like it.” 

He sat up, and became grave at once. 

[ 99 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ I am sorry,” he said gently. “ I have no desire to 
make fun of you. You must be very sensitive, as you 
say. We have only known each other three-quarters 
of an hour, and have already had two quarrels or mis- 
understandings. I am not usually considered pugilis- 
tic, and so ” 

“ And so it must be my fault,” I interrupted. “ Well, 
I won’t be touchy any more, and you can stay and talk 
to me if you like.” 

“Thanks,” he said dryly, and then we both laughed. 

He wasn’t in the least patronizing again, and I told 
him all about Heatherland and mother, and Angela 
and Sammy, in all of which he expressed himself greatly 
interested. But I could not get away from the im- 
pression that he was weighing me up and drawing me 
out and examining me as Butterby does his moths. I 
was rather glad when the evening was over. He never 
once left my side, and I wasn’t brave enough to get up 
and deliberately walk away, for he seemed to fascinate me. 

“Well!” said Aunt Menelophe, when she came to 
ray room to bid me good-night, “you have made a 
conquest.” 

“ Do you mean the deaf man ? ” I asked. 

“No,” she replied, “I don’t. You were extremely 
lude to him. I mean Mr. Escourt, who is supposed to 
be brilliantly clever — a great literary light. Writes 
something on everything. Essayist, reviewer, leader- 
writer, and novelist, I believe. Lives in London. A 
great friend of my son Wellesley. Unmarried, a pro- 
[ 100 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


fessed woman-hater, and i£5,000 a year. He is useful 
at parties, but I don’t much care for him.” 

“And I don’t like him,” I agreed. 

“How do you behave, then, to a man you do like? 
I merely ask from a spirit of curiosity. I observed you 
talked to Mr. Escourt the entire evening,” said Aunt 
Menelophe. 

“Aunt Menelophe,” I replied, “you are frequently 
untruthful, and not exercising a good influence over 
me. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” said she, and went out of the room 
laughing. 

I was tired and excited, and was a long, long time 
in getting off to sleep. My feet were cold and my head 
was hot. I went through each course of the dinner and 
every item of Mr. Escourt’s conversation. How well 
he had talked! And did he not say Poe’s The Whirl- 
fool was the most emotional thing that had ever been 
written, or did he say realistic ? Perhaps it was Locks- 
ley Hall he described as being strongly emotional. 
What a pity to have forgotten. But what did it matter ? 

“Why, it was Jack and the Beanstalk,* came a 
voice. 

I started, and there were the lobster salad and ice 
pudding walking down the room hand-in-hand. 

“ He didn’t,” I contradicted, feeling annoyed. 

“ He did ! he did ! he did ! ” they shouted. 

Then the shrimps began to untie themselves from 
the paper; and the cheese straws, with pink ribbon 
[ 101 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


sashes round their waists, capered about wildly; and 
the grouse began to jump over chairs ; and champagne 
bottles, dressed in white serviettes, waltzed round the 
room with the sherries and ports. And then they all 
joined hands and, bowing, cried, “We will now sit 
upon Miss Hazel Wycherley’s chest,” and before I 
could move they climbed on to the bed and swarmed 
over me and pressed me flat — flatter and flatter. I 
gasped, I tried to shriek out, I panted, I labored for 
breath, I was suffocating, I rolled in agony, I was 
dying. And then, with one terrific effort, I pushed and 
heaved, and shoved and strained, and — woke up. I 
was clutching the pillows frantically, my forehead was 
wet, I felt as though I had just emerged from a big 
prize-fight, when — horror upon horror! — something 
was in the room. I sat up in bed wildly straining into 
the darkness. Something moved ! A scream froze on 
my lips, my breath came quickly, my heart stopped. 
It was the ghost! Something hammered in my brain, 
“It’s the toad! It’s the toad!” God! how could I 
bear the horror of it ? Was I dreaming ? Was I mad ? 
It moved nearer and nearer and nearer. It touched 
the bed. Slowly it worked up toward me, clawing the 
air; and, with one frenzied yell, I rose up in bed and 
grabbed — something by the nose. 

“Damn it!” came a voice; “what the devil are you 
doing. Hazel? Let go.” For I was holding on like 
grim death to some struggling creature. 

“Oh, Butterby!” I sobbed, “is it you? You are 
[ 102 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


sure you are not a toad. You are quite sure you are 
not the toad. Oh, dear Butterby! say you won’t turn 
into a toad and spit at me ? I couldn’t bear it. Oh ! 
oh! oh! I was never so terrified in my life. Oh, But- 
terby ! how could you ? It was cruel of you. It was 
wicked. The shock has nearly killed me. I can feel 
my hair turning snow-white. Oh, Butterby, the hor- 
ror of it ! How could you ? How could you ? ” I was 
sobbing bitterly, and great tears were splasliing on to 
the bed. 

Butterby did not reply for a moment. I could feel 
he was rubbing his injured member, and I cheered up 
a little. I must have hurt him badly. 

At last he spoke. 

“Look here. Hazel, I am beastly sorry. I never 
meant to frighten you. I completely forgot you were 
sleeping here. It is years since this room was occupied. 
I keep some entomological books in the top drawer of 
the chest of drawers.” (This was true, for I had seen 
them.) “The bookcase in the library is overflowing, 
so I stuck them here, as I have no room in my quarters. 
Do you see ? ” 

“Yes,” I replied injuredly. “But I can’t see what 
that has to do with your wandering in here in the 
dead of night and frightening me into blue fits, and 
causing me to be ill for months from shock.” 

He patted my arm soothingly. 

“Don’t cry, old girl! It was this way. I couldn’t 

sleep. I think it was the lobster and ” 

[ 103 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Yes,” I interrupted. ‘‘ It was. My lobster wouldn’t 
sleep either, neither would the shrimps; but I didn’t 
wander round the house and play ghosts, and scare 
people to death and ” 

“Wait a moment,” said he; “let me finish. Well, 
I was sick of lying awake, and I thought I would read 
a bit, so I came here for one of the books ; it was nearer 
than going downstairs. Now do you understand?” 

“ I hear what you say. But why didn’t you bring a 
light with you ? It is not usual to tramp about a house 
in the pitch dark, is it ? ” I inquired scathingly. 

“I forgot. That’s a fact. I never thought of it. 
There was a low light on the landing and in the corri- 
dor, and I knew the geography of the room so well that 
I thought I could grope my way to the chest of drawers 
without ” 

“ Instead of which you lost your bearings and groped 
your way to the bed and half-killed your poor step- 
cousin,” said I, beginning to gulp again. “Now go. 
Some day I’ll try and forgive you, but I can’t to-night. 
I am too unnerved. So please go away,” and I sobbed 
afresh. 

Butterby stood still for a moment, and then, groping 
his way to the door, went out without another word. 
I heard him fall over something in the corridor, which 
gave me some small satisfaction. 

“Idiot!” I said. “Great idiot! I wish he would 
turn into an insect himself, and then I would tread 
on him.” 


[ 104 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


With which vindictive expression I turned over in 
order to seek sleep, but never was I so wide awake in 
my life. My brain seemed on fire and my body felt 
like water. Then I fell to laughing weakly as I pic- 
tured Butterby’s nose, and I went on laughing till I 
cried again, and then — a knock came at the door, and 
very feebly I said “ Come in.” 

“Some new development,” I thought. “Perhaps 
this is the goat with two tails,” and I raised my head, 
feebly interested. 

“It’s only I, Hazel,” and again a shadowy figure 
moved toward the bed. “I’ve brought you a rasp- 
berry tart,” and Butterby thrust a large, jammy lump 
of pastry into my hand, and then fied. 

A raspberry tart when my mouth was like a lime- 
kiln ! Why couldn’t he have brought a bucket of water 
into which I could thrust my head? I flung the tart 
to the other end of the room, where I heard it squelch 
against the wall. But it was kind of Butterby — very 
kind. He was not such a bad sort. 

When I related my tragic story to Aunt Menelophe 
this morning all she remarked was — 

“And you say that Butterby rapped out a ‘damn.’ 
I didn’t know the boy had it in him.” 

And she looked as pleased as if he had just received 
the V.C. 


[ 105 ] 


CHAPTER IX 


I Return Home and Exchange Sentiments with Jerry 
on Autumn 

O NCE again am I enswathed in my old, work- 
aday, brown stuff gown, an opportunity not 
having yet arisen in which to throw ink 
down the front of the skirt. The silk tea-gown has 
been consigned to a cupboard in the spare room, and 
covered up from the dust with an old nightgown. 

“ Perhaps you may have a long illness at some future 
date, and then you could wear it to receive visitors,” 
said mother cheerfully. 

“I should cut it up into an evening dress,” sug- 
gested Angela still more cheerfully. “ The chiffon frills 
would trim the neck of the bodice nicely.” 

“It will remain a tea-gown to the end of its days,” 
I answered firmly. 

“ When will you wear it ? ” asked Angela. 

“Angela,” I replied, “you should check that spirit 
of curiosity before it becomes too deeply rooted. Curi- 
osity is not a pleasant feature in anyone’s character, 
and it once killed a cat. Tradition says it was care^ 
but I am convinced it was curiosity.^' 

[ 106 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Then I walked out of the room with dignity and left 
Angela gaping. I rarely correct my sister; in fact, I 
dare not. But when I do her breath comes in gasps. 

Aunt Menelophe saw me off at the station yesterday 
afternoon. She presented me with a five-pound note, 
a box of chocolates, and Ally Sloper. 

“ Good-by, little girl,” said she. “ Tell your mother 
I return you exactly three weeks to the day, and many 
thanks for the loan. I wish I could keep you three 
months, but I am a woman of my word. You have 
cheered up an old woman, and almost made her a Free 
Trader and Liberal. Remember all I have told you 
about clothes, and wear blue. Never again put on that 
frightful pink. Give it to the first beggar woman you 
meet. Come whenever you like to the Hall. You will 
always find a welcome, And should you ever be in 
trouble, bring it to me, and we’ll see what can be done 
with it. Value your mother. A good mother is the 
nearest thing to heaven, and one generally finds this 
out when she is gone. Your mother must be a good 
woman to wear such caps as you describe. Good-by.” 

Then she kissed me on both cheeks, and I choked 
and got into the train. 

As it was slowly moving out of the station, Butterby 
dashed along the platform and thrust a small paper 
parcel into my hand. 

“ It’s a beetle,” he gasped. “ Take very great care of 
it. It was the rarest beetle in my collection, and is 
valuable. I — I’m sorry I frightened you so. Good-by.” 

[ 107 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Good-by, Butterby. Thanks awfully. I’m all 
right now,” I shouted as we began to get up steam. 

Aunt Menelophe waved a wisp of lace, and Butterby 
an exceedingly soiled handkerchief after me, and I 
flapped Ally Sloper till we turned a corner and they 
were lost to view. 

I opened the parcel gingerly — I am a bit suspicious 
of entomologists; they often seem to run to live crea- 
tures — but there lay the duckiest, little bronze beetle, 
with heaps of legs, mounted in gold — a little lace 
brooch, on pink cotton wool. 

How land of Butterby! Poor old Butterby! I was 
growing quite fond of him. He was a dear old thing, 
and stupendously clever. As Aunt Menelophe said, 
he appeared to have every ology in his head but that of 
business. He had shown me his collection of moths 
and butterflies and insects the night before. 

“Butterby,” I had said, “I should open a South 
Kensington Museum in the Potteries, and then when 
the ‘wakes’ were on there would be something im- 
proving for the people to do. Just think what a 
boon your insects would be on a wet day! and how 
glorious for them to see a cockroach impaled on a 
pin!” 

“That isn’t a cockroach,” said Butterby, following 
the direction of my eyes, “ that is a Tiger beetle. You 
don’t seem to know much about anything. Girls are 
very ignorant.” 

“Well, don’t be depressed about it, dear Butterby,” 
[ 108 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I replied. “ Girls get on very well, and are almost as 
useful as — entomologists.” 

But he did not hear me: Butterby rarely listens to 
people talking. 

When I arrived at Birkenhead, and made my way 
to Woodside and the old, familiar ’bus, I somehow felt 
that Jerry would touch his hat and spring forward to 
help me in; but he did nothing of the kind. 

“Evenin’ to you. Miss Hazelt,” says he. “You’re 
just ’ome in toime, for your pigs is bein’ killed this 
week, and you wouldn’t loike to ’ave missed that, I 
reckon. Your ma’s sausages, I’m told, is the best 
made in ’Eatherland. Now just wait a minute, and 
I’ll put you some clane straw in the bottom o’ the 
’bus.” 

“ Thank you, Jerry,” I replied; “ I’m going outside.” 

I could see Joey Tomlinson coming along in the dis- 
tance, and Joey appears to prefer a diet of onions to 
any other. 

“Eh, but you’ll be rare cold. Miss Hazelt; these 
nights in October ’ave a sharp bit o’ frost in ’em — nips 
your fingers. Now you take my advoice and get insoide 
among the clane straw.” 

He might have been addressing one of mother’s pigs, 
enticing it to a warm bed. 

“ No, thank you, Jerry. I shall be all right. I like 
these crisp nights,” I answered, climbing up to the 
seat beside him. He lent me some of his mackintosh 
apron and tucked it in well round me. Soon we had 
[ 109 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


left the town behind us, and were swinging along the 
sweet-scented country lanes; the horses were fresh and 
were going home, and the passengers few. The sky 
was clear, and in the fading light I could just make 
out the familiar landmarks — the waterworks at Tren- 
ton, the old white mill, and the distant Welsh hills. 

There were no such lanes in Blongton, and I sniffed 
in the sweet, seductive scent of dying trees and leaves 
and bracken, and soft, moist earth. 

“Doesn’t autumn smell lovely, Jerry?” I said. 
“ Nearly as nice as spring, only not so hopeful.” 

Jerry sniffed the air like a rabbit. 

“No,” replied he, “I don’t smell anythink, only 
some manure yonder in the fields ’longside o’ Trenton.” 

“Jerry, you are a Thilistine,” I cried. “You have 
no romance in you — no sense of beauty. Don’t you 
love the delicious scent of the yellow and red and 
brown leaves which are dying and rustling and falling 
— falling to earth? Don’t you like the smell of the 
pale, yellowing bracken breathing its last among the 
brown heather and gorse and beneath the tangled, 
weeping hedges ? Don’t you love the scent of the fungi 
in the little wet, shady woods, and the fragrance of the 
pine-needles as they drop one by one to the ground, 
softer and more silent than raindrops on summer 
fiowers asleep ? Doesn’t the lush moss at the foot of 
the trees, and the brown growth which creeps up the 
gray trunks, fill you with a kind of delicious sadness, 
which is almost akin to pain ? Don’t the fading and 
[ 110 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


drooping autumn flowers — the dahlias and hollyhocks 
with their curious, subtle scent, the Michaelmas daisies 
and phlox — make you think of the autumn of life — 
the gentle sitting down and resting and dreaming after 
the strenuous, voluptuous life of the spring and sum- 
mer? Don’t they, Jerry? Don’t you ever feel these 
things?” 

Jerry remained silent for a moment and looked 
gravely into the gathering darkness. Then he flicked 
up his horses, which had fallen into a walk, and spoke. 

“Nay, Miss Hazelt,” he said, “oi never felt loikes 
what yer descroibes not wonst in my loife. If oi had 
oi should ’ave thought oi was drunk. Poine-needles 
makes me think of turpentoin — turps and goosegrease 
is what the auld woman rubs my chest wi’ in winter; 
dead brackin remoinds me it makes a good, dry bed- 
din’ for pigs; the droppin’ leaves puts me in moind of 
leaf mould for the garding; dalies and ’olly’ocks 
makes me think of ’arvest festivals; an’ autumn itself 
calls to moind things loike Michaelmas geese, rent 
day, ‘ ducldn’ apple ’ night, and to tell the auld woman 
to put an extry blanket on the bed. Oi should be 
roight miserable if oi felt as yer descroibs at the failin’ 
of the year. Oi should stop insoide and take hot 
drinks, indade oi should and all.” 

“ But I enjoy it, Jerry,” I said gently. “ I love it.” 

“Do yer? Ah, well,” he remarked, “wimin seems 
to ’ave the queerest ways of enjoyin’ ’emselves. When 
my auld woman is extry bad and down in the dumps 
[ 111 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


she goes to a saint’s-day sarvace. As soon as she goes 
to saint’s-day sarvaces oi knows oi’m in fer a poor 
supper. She ’asn’t the ’eart or strength to see after 
both. Oi ’ates a saint’s-day sarvace more’n oi do Sun- 
day before Easter, which is so bloomin’ long oi falls 
asleep all over the place,” and Jerry sighed heavily and 
fell into thought. 

It was seven o’clock and quite dark as we swung 
down the lane and pulled up at our front gate. I could 
see the lights shining through the trees and shrubs, 
and Sammy was on the step to receive my trunk. As I 
walked with him up to the house, Dibbs dashed across 
the lawn and spun in front of me like a merry-go- 
round. And mother was waiting at the door with her 
cap on one side, and Angela was just behind her, and 
Rose, trim in cap and apron, was just behind Angela, 
and Elizabeth was peeping through the kitchen door. 
After all, home was not so bad. I hugged mother, 
kissed Angela, shook hands with Rose, nodded to 
Elizabeth, and patted Dibbs, who was still behaving 
like a thing demented. 

The entire place smelt of soap, furniture polish, and 
general cleanliness. The linoleum shone and the 
mahogany table and chairs gleamed in the lamp- 
light. 

“Angela,” I said as I walked into the dining-room, 
“ this is the cleanest house in Great Britain. A Dutch 
house might give it odds. One cannot say. But noth- 
ing in Great Britain could touch it.” 

[ 112 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Is it cleaner than Aunt Menelophe’s ? ” inquired 
my sister eagerly. 

“ Much"" I replied with emphasis as I sat down. 

“And she has five women servants and one man, 
you say?” continued Angela. 

“Yes,” said I. “And I am convinced that they 
never clean the picture-rods with vinegar once a year, let 
alone twice,” and my eyes rested on the top of the walls. 

Angela’s eyes followed mine with quiet pleasure. 

“ Yes,” she remarked with a little sigh of satisfaction, 
“ they do look nice.” 

Presently she suggested I should take off my things, 
as tea was ready and the chicken would be spoilt. 

“And don’t spill any candle-grease on the stairs,” 
she called after me, “ as they have just been done with 
brown paper and an iron.” 

Then I became wicked. I was quite cheerful and 
contented till Angela mentioned the word grease and 
told me to mind. I hate being told to mind. I walked 
slowly up the stairs, and as soon as I had turned the 
corner I bent down and spilt one nice, fat spot of 
grease on a red flower in the carpet on the top stair. 
Then I felt happier and passed on to my room. 

It looked cheerless and excessively clean. Where 
was the bright wood fire ? Where were the soft, yellow 
walls and frilly, silk curtains ? The fuchsias on the 
paper looked stiff and chilly. And why did Angela 
insist on having the Nottingham lace curtains starched 
so aggressively ? They might have been wearing 
8 [ 113 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


crinolines. I gave them a vicious prod, and they 
merely crackled and sprang back again. I walked to 
the bed and gave the stiff, staring white counterpane 
a tweak. Why couldn’t it be soft and lacy and frilly 
like Aunt Menelophe’s? I stared at the six prim 
crochet mats on the dressing-table, all matching, and 
exactly opposite to one another. On one rested a can- 
dlestick; on another rested a candlestick — both white 
china with pink bands. On a third rested a ring-stand 
— I have one ring. On a fourth lay a trinket-jar, also 
white china with a pink band. A fifth would support 
a small Bible, and the sixth Jeremy Taylor when I had 
unpacked them. I passed to the washstand. Four 
more crochet mats reposed there, but these were red 
and white. I mixed them all up with the dressing- 
table mats, and chuckled as I pictured Rose sorting 
them out in the morning. Afterward I opened the 
window, and leaned out into the night. The evening was 
very still. Across the river, in Wales, the lights twin- 
kled at me — as I thought — sympathetically. More 
lights twinkled in the blue above. Then the moon rose 
in splendor, and sent a shimmering band of light across 
the waters of the Dee. The little waves turned into 
silver, and rippled and tumbled and laughed. And a 
tiny breeze came along and caught up the laugh, and 
carried it to the trees and leaves close to my window. 
And the leaves laughed, too, and rustled and tumbled 
one over another to the soft grass below ; and one little 
yellow one blew against my lips as though to kiss me, 
[ 114 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

and I held it in my hand and stroked its damp, fading 
face. Bit by bit the soft stillness of the night entered 
my being, and a peace fell upon me. 

What did it all matter ? How could I care about the 
little worries and jars of life when I was still young and 
strong, and had the trees and river and hills and dear 
Mother Earth to love and to comfort me ? And there 
was my own mother. There was always mother, who, 
when I could get her away from Angela, was the very 
nicest of mothers. I would — 

“ Hazel, are you coming ? ” said mother’s voice sud- 
denly behind me. 

I started. 

“Yes, mother, I’m coming.” 

“ What were you doing ? ” she asked, looking at me 
suspiciously. “You’ve been crying.” 

“No, I haven’t,” I lied. “My eyes are watering 
after the wind in my face.” 

Then I took her arm in mine, and we walked down 
the stairs together. When we reached the bottom 
stair, I said — 

“Mother, will you give me another kiss?” and I 
put my arms round her tightly. 

She did so, and looked at me wonderingly. 

“Aren’t you well?” she asked. 

“Quite,” I replied, forcing a laugh. “So well that 
I feel equal to eating two whole chickens myself.” 

“ There is only one,” said mother practically, “ Gray 
Legs — she was killed yesterday.” 

[ 115 ] 


CHAPTER X 


An All-Hallows^ E'en Party 

T he last fortnight had been so chock-full of 
events and things happening and things about 
to happen, that I have decided Heatherland 
is not half so dull a place as I imagined. Even pig- 
killing day was not so sad as usual. It is generally a 
day I look upon with horror — a sanguinary, odious 
sort of day; a day upon which I efface myself as 
much as Angela will permit; a day upon which I stuff 
my fingers into my ears and fly to the most remote 
corner of the garden — anywhere and anything to es- 
cape those terrible screams. This time I put on my 
hat and jacket and rushed off to the shore. I met Bill 
the pig-killer in his blue coat just as I was leaving the 
front gate. 

“Oh, Bill!” I cried, “hurt Sukey as little as pos- 
sible.” 

Bill has such nice feelings, considering his vocation. 
“Ay, ay! Miss Hazelt,” he replied. “Sukey will 
feel it no more than if it was a fleabite. One mo- 
ment she’s ’ere and the next she’s sausages, so to 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Don’t, Bill,” I said; “I can’t bear it. Nobody 
knows what Sukey has been to me.” And I hurried 
on, trying not to think or see things too vividly. 

Sukey was such a nice, adaptable, happy-go-lucky 
sort of pig. She would eat anything that was put 
before her and appear to enjoy it. Once she ate up an 
old sponge of mine that had been thrown by accident 
into the sty. Another time she devoured one of Eliza- 
beth’s dish-cloths. Nothing seemed to come amiss 
with her. She never carped at life, and now — now it 
was to be ended. 

I threw stones into the water for Dibbs. I made 
ducks and drakes with the little flat ones. I watched 
the shadows racing each other up the hills in the sunlit 
fields. I wandered into Dick Manner’s lane and 
picked some red-leaved bramble. I noted that winter 
was very near, that the grass on the banks was rank 
and sodden, and the sedges and reeds by the little 
streams were brown and bent and lay low in the run- 
ning water. Yes, winter was coming. The long hours 
in the soft, cool wind and warm sunshine, and fragrant 
lanes and fields were at an end. The hawthorn hedges 
were bare of leaf, and the branches of the oak and 
mountain ash — the longest-lived of the big trees — 
were naked and forlorn. I sighed and went home. 
Why was summer so short and winter so long? It 
would have been quite as easy so arrange it the other 
way about. I paused when I reached Sandy Lane. I 
would go straight into the house; mother would be 
[ 117 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


wanting me. But I didn’t. My feet carried me to the 
yard and the wash-house, from whence the sound 
of voices proceeded. There lay Sukey white in death 
on the floor. Bill was pouring boiling water over her, 
and Sammy was scraping her. She looked resigned 
and peaceful. 

“ Twenty score if she’s an ounce. Miss Hazelt,” said 
Sammy with pride. 

“ Yes, she digested her food well,” I replied. 

“An’ she came along as quiet as a dog on a string, 
and she was that fat she couldn’t screech,” remarked 
Bill comfortingly. 

But I had no craving for details, and went into the 
house reflecting what a curious and sad thing is life for 
some of God’s creatures. 

The next two days were filled with curing and pick- 
ling and boiling, and sausage-making and pork pies, 
and I never once gave way to irritability; in fact, I am 
so amiable and gentle that I am becoming nervous 
that something may happen. Perhaps I am growing 
good! Perhaps I am braced and strengthened and 
invigorated both in mind and body for my change. 
Or perhaps mother and Angela discovered in my ab- 
sence that after all I am not so bad. Angela has ceased 
to watch me warily out of the corner of her eye each 
time I enter the room, which always gave the impres- 
sion that she was a detective on the track of a base 
criminal. She does not adopt those martyred, injured 
tones of old when she requests me to dust the drawing- 
[ 118 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


room or help brush the mattresses on bedroom-cleaning 
day. She does not keep reminding me that she, mother, 
Elizabeth, and Rose are simply run off their legs with 
work, while I look on and do nothing. 

Or does she do these things ? After all, she may, 
and perhaps it is only I who am changed. I am so 
bright and happy and unselfish, as I said before, and 
so filled with a desire to do kind things for others, that 
I feel like Ministering Children^ and am quite nervous 
of being caught up to heaven like Elijah without dying. 
I am not yet ready to go. I am invited to tea, with 
mother and Angela, to Mr. Inderwick’s, and I want to 
wear my new, blue, beaver hat. 

At last I have met that man. It was at Mrs. Moss’s 
party on “All-Hallows’ E’en,” and I like him — 
rather. 

I remembered what Aunt Menelophe advised, and I 
behaved toward him as though nothing had happened; 
and he was so magnanimous. 

He was not there the first part of the evening, and 
it was a little dull. It is difficult to make Mr. and 
Mrs. Moss realize that we are grown up. 

Angela and I wore our white, embroidered muslins, 
which were freshly got-up by Mrs. Flutterby for the 
occasion, and were as starchy as our curtains. 

I thought it would be a pleasant change for Heath- 
erland to see my new silk from Rea’s in Basnett Street; 
but Angela said “ Ridiculous ! Think what it would be 
like when we play games ! ” 

[ 119 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I had forgotten the games. 

It was a pitch-dark night, and Rose accompanied 
us to the Moss’s with a lantern. Mother always sends 
Rose with us. She says it is safer along these lonely 
roads. This generalization I have never been able to 
follow. Rose is considerably younger than Angela, and 
much smaller in stature than I. Then, too, she has to 
return alone, which I think far from safe. But mother 
says it is quite different for her, as she is not in the 
same social position. Surely blackguards and thieves 
and evil men bent on dark deeds do not worry about 
class distinctions! Some day I know Rose will be 
murdered in Sandy Lane, and then mother will be 
sorry. 

We were the first to arrive, Angela is so punctual. 
Mr. and Mrs. Moss, Frederick, and four daughters 
received us in the drawing-room with cups of coffee. 
Frederick was looking tragic. He stared at the ceiling 
and gnawed his moustache. I guessed an epic poem 
was simmering. 

Rosabel and Alicia Hawthorn were the next to be 
announced. Rosabel had on a new blue frock, which 
annoyed me excessively. She had risked the games. 
Why hadn’t Then Mr. Oates bulked large in the 
doorway, followed by the Honorable Horatio Stanhope 
— a nephew. Mrs. Oates was removing her hat. The 
Honorable Horatio caused a flutter, but unfortunately 
he is a little bow-legged. 

Then one by one the young members of the Heath - 
[ 120 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


erland “families” trooped in. Mr. and Mrs. Oates 
were the only grown-ups. They are invited to all 
functions, otherwise they would invite themselves. 
Mr. Oates says the cloth should be represented at all 
times and all seasons ; it lends a restraining influence. 
Perhaps he thinks we should become too uncontrolled 
over “Turn the Trencher” if he were not present. 
Mrs. Moss’s parties always open with “Turn the 
Trencher.” 

We filed into the organ-room, which has a polished 
floor, and took up our positions. 

Is there anyone in this world who has not met that 
fascinating game, “ Turn the Trencher ” ? 

Whenever I am specially dull and depressed I just 
think of “Turn the Trencher.” I fancy I hear the 
twirl of the little, wooden tray on the polished floor. 
I hear some one call “ Poppy,” and I dash forward in 
wild haste. Am I too late ? Shall I catch it ? 

We are all loyal to each other — we Heatherlandites 
— in the matter of names. We never poach each 
other’s. I have been “ Poppy ” from time immemorial, 
and Angela is “Camelia,” which seems to suit her so 
admirably. For is not a camelia the neatest and 
primmest and most composed of flowers? Angela 
slides down the room with an undulating movement 
when “Camelia” is called. She doesn’t bustle, and 
she is always in time. I would give much to see Angela 
once miss the trencher, but she never will. Angela 
never misses things. 


[ 121 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


After “Turn the Trencher” we played “General 
Post.” In this again we invariably stick to our own 
names. I should be really angry if any one claimed 
Timbuctoo. I should feel like a parson who has been 
done out of his tithes by some stupid parliamentary 
bill. 

“The post runs between Timbuctoo and the North 
Pole, ” calls out Mrs. Moss in dulcet tones. It is a fren- 
zied moment. The blindfolded one is close on my 
heels. Shall I dodge her? With lithe, snake-like 
movements I creep along the floor. I coil and uncoil, 
I dodge, I double, I feint, and glide breathless into the 
North Pole’s chair. The North Pole is Frederick 
Moss. He has allowed himself to be caught deliber- 
ately. He looks well posing in the middle of the room, 
with his sprouting red moustache peeping below the 
handkerchief; and he is so long in catching another 
town that we become tired. 

“Hands up for ‘Clumps,’” calls Mrs. Moss in an 
inspiriting voice. Up go our hands, for “Clumps” is 
an instructive game, an education in itself. I think 
after “Turn the Trencher” I like “Clumps” next 
best. 

“ You go out. Hazel.” 

I bow with surprised pleasure, and the Honorable 
Horatio accompanies me to the hall. We select the 
wart on Oliver Cromwell’s nose. 

“Is it animal?” whispers the Hon. Horatio as we 
enter the room. 


[ 122 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Of course,” I reply. “Did you think it was vege- 
table?” 

We each sit down in the middle of our respective 
“Clump.” Questions in whispers fly about the room 
like greased lightning. I parry, I dissemble, but they 
are hot on the scent, and in a moment a wild clapping 
of hands announces that my “ Clump ” has won. 

The other “ Clump ” looks aggrieved. “ But he said 
it was ornamental,” and accusing fingers are pointed 
at the Hon. Horatio. The Hon. Horatio twirls and 
fidgets on his music-stool, and looks unhappy. 

“ Now for refreshments. But perhaps nobody 
wants refreshments,” says Mr. Moss. 

He makes the same little joke every year, and we 
all laugh. We like Mr. Moss; he is a dear, and so 
kind to young people, and has such a beautiful white 
beard. 

We scatter ourselves about the dining-room and 
devour oyster fates and chicken creams. I can see 
Angela counting up the cost of the fates and wonder- 
ing if the cases are home-made. I eat six. “Turn 
the Trencher” is hungry work. Then we pass on to 
jellies and sweets, and I raise a large spoonful of my 
favorite apple snow cream to my mouth. How de- 
licious it is! When I am a rich woman I shall have 
apple snow every Sunday for dinner, and always on 
Bank Holidays. 

Then the most exciting moment of the evening 
arrives. We are led to a small breakfast-room, where 
[ 123 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


on the floor rests a large tub full of water and apples. 
“Ducking-apple” night must be observed. Each per- 
son ducks in turn, and he or she who catches the 
most apples in his or her mouth receives a prize. 

Mrs. Moss remarks it is only for quite young peo- 
ple, and the elder ones may look on if they like. Some 
of them range themselves in chairs round the room. I 
don’t care if I’m young or old, I mean to duck for 
apples till I’m fifty. It is the only real bit of fun in 
the evening. 

My turn has come. I fasten the big, Turkish towel 
round my bare neck and shoulders in case of accident; 
I push back my hair; I kneel on a woolly mat; I take 
a deep, long breath, and the next minute I am chivying 
a small, foolish apple round and round the tub. It 
bobs under as my teeth are about to close on it; it 
shoots up like a cork and turns somersaults; it dances 
and dives and spins round. I am getting angry and 
very wet. Slowly and surely I manoeuvre it to the side 
of the tub. I press it closely, and my teeth fasten 
upon it like a hungry wolf’s. With a dripping face 
I emerge from the tub and drop the apple upon the 
floor. 

Cheer upon cheer greet my triumph, and, turning 
round, I espy Mr. Inderwick smiling broadly in the 
doorway. Hastily I gather myself up. Why does 
Fate always put me into the most ridiculous attitudes 
every time that man darkens my path? It is too 
bad. He walks across the room with his slow, heavy 
[ 124 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


gait, and, shaking hands with Mrs. Moss, apologizes 
for being late. 

“I was detained by business,” I hear him explain, 
“ and afterward — well, Sandy Lane is very sandy, 
and Rocky Lane is horribly rocky.” 

Mrs. Moss laughs, and out of the comer of my 
eye I see him glancing round the room for a chair. 
The only vacant seat is by me. Its late occupant is 
now ducking for apples in his turn — the Hon. Horatio 
Stanhope — and is causing much laughter thereby. 
He looks at the chair for a moment, then at me, and 
hesitates. I feel my cheeks growing hot, and try to 
mop my wet face and hair unconcernedly. Then he 
deliberately crosses the room to Angela, and I hear him 
ask her for an introduction to me. Angela looks aston- 
ished, and well she may. 

“But don’t you know Hazel?” I hear my sister 
say. “She is the girl in white with dark hair who 
has just been ducking for apples.” 

I cannot catch his reply above the splashings of 
the Hon. Horatio and the general laughter. But 
Angela rises and brings him to me, and says — 

“ This is Mr. Inderwick.” 

He bows gravely, and takes the seat beside me 
without offering his hand. His calmness takes my 
breath away. Has he forgotten my rudeness in the 
stubbly field? or does he simply regard me in the 
light of a spoiled child? Then Aunt Menelophe’s 
advice flashes across my mind, “ Be natural, and 
[ 125 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


behave ju^t as though nothing had happened.” I 
feel, too, that it is impossible to be dignified when 
he has just seen me with my head in a tub. So, as 
quick as lightning, I turn round and offer him my 
hand in friendly fashion. 

“How do you do, Mr. Inderwick? I am glad 
to renew our acquaintance,” I say lightly. “It is 
many years since we met. I should hardly have 
known you.” 

My heart is beating thickly; I am dreadfully ner- 
vous, in spite of my airiness. How will he take it ? 
A puzzled look steals across his countenance for a 
moment, and he knits his brows. Then I begin to 
enjoy myself, and have some diflftculty in suppress- 
ing a giggle. He glances at me swiftly for a 
second, but my face is inscrutable— at least, so 
I imagine. His gaze returns to the apple-ducker with 
interest. 

“Yes,” he says at length, “it is many years since 
we met. I shouldn’t have known you either.” 

It is my turn to start now, but he doesn’t observe 
it. He is laughing with the others, and is certainly 
very indifferent. I wish he would pay more attention 
to me. 

“ How long ago is it since you saw me ? ” I inquire. 
“ Am I as much changed as that ? ” 

“Yes, you are very much altered. It is about three 
wee — I mean fourteen years,” he says, without looking 
at me. 


[ 126 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

“Oh, of course. How time flies!” I remark bril- 
liantly. 

“ Yes,” he says, equally brilliantly. 

Then a silence falls between us, and I study the 
soles of the Hon. Horatio’s patent shoes, which are 
turned toward me from the mat upon which he kneels. 

“ I was quite a tiny girl in those days,” I presently 
remark, “and we went cockling together.” 

“ Yes,” he replies. 

“And I got myself very dirty.” 

“ Yes,” he says again. 

I begin to feel irritated. I wish he were not quite 
so monosyllabic. I hate men who invariably reply 
as though each word were worth its weight in gold. 

“ But perhaps you have forgotten it all ? ” I inquire, 
the least shade tartly. 

“Perhaps I have,”, he says; and then he turns 
round suddenly and smiles at me. 

The smile might mean anything. It is quizzical 
and kind, and amused and sarcastic and whimsical 
all in the same breath, and is altogether so irresistible 
that before I know what I am doing I am smiling 
back at him like an easily-pleased infant. 

“ Ah ! ” he says, and the smile broadens into a laugh, 
“now I know you.” 

And just at this exceedingly interesting moment 
Mrs. Moss announces it is my turn to duck. How 
much longer is this foolish game to continue? My 
interest in it has gone, and my luck has vanished. I 
[ 127 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


chase a hard, green apple round the tub till I am 
dizzy. It is as elusive as a shadow. I give it a final 
vicious snap, and it merely shoots below like a torpedo 
boat. I surrender amid roars of laughter, and I 
emerge soaked, and vanish upstairs to dry myself and 
brush my hair. 

When I descended, they had all returned to the 
drawing-room, and Mr. and Mrs. Moss were whisper- 
ing in a corner. 

“We are going to finish up the evening wfth a little 
dance,” announces Mrs. Moss. “Will you all help to 
move the furniture ? ” 

The doors of the organ-room are thrown open, and 
Mrs. Moss breaks into a seductive waltz. 

Seventeen girls lean in careless attitudes against 
the walls, and try not to remember that there are 
only seven men among them, and one of them is 
Frederick Moss. 

I hear a manly tread behind me. I imagine it is 
Mr. Inderwick, and turn round to find the Hon. 
Horatio is offering me his arm. 

“ Ha ! ” he says, “ may I have the pleasure ? ” 

Now I feel inclined to kick the Hon. Horatio, I 
am so disappointed; but I place my hand on his arm 
and — we leap into the air. I had expected to waltz, 
and the leap surprises me. But Mr. Stanhope appears 
to enjoy it. After each jump through space he says 
“ Ha ! ” Sometimes we leap into other people, and I 
am badly hurt; and just when I am at my last gasp he 
[ 128 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND, 

plumps me down on a chair, says, “Thanks awfully, 
ha ! ” and leaves me. 

I lean my head dizzily against the wall, and feel 
very sea-sick and miserable, and my frock is torn; 
and then Mr. Inderwick came to me. 

“ I hope you are not hurt ? ” he said kindly. 

“No, thank you,” I replied; “but I feel sick and 
dizzy,” and I closed my eyes. I really felt horribly 
sick, and the room spun round me. Perhaps it was 
on the top of the apple-ducking. I would have given 
much at that moment to have put my head some- 
where. I felt faint and queer, and I daren’t say so. 
Mr. Inderwick would think me an affected, little 
fool. 

“Would you like me to get you a glass of wine?” 
I heard his voice say from somewhere; but it sounded 
faint and small, and as though it did not belong to him. 

“No, thank you,” I replied in a still smaller voice; 
“I’m all right.” And the next moment there was a 
singing in my ears, a blackness before my eyes, and 
the whole room vanished. 

It must have been only a momentary faintness, for 
when I came round I was still sitting on the same chair, 
and Mr. Inderwick was looking gravely at me. 

“ You turned faint ? ” he said inquiringly. 

“Yes,” I said, “I believe I did.” 

“Come with me. This place is hot; the dining- 
room is cool, and I’ll get you some wine,” he said, 
and he led me from the room. 

9 [ 129 1 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I still felt as though I were somebody else and he 
was a long way off, and I walked shakily and the hall 
seemed misty. 

“Now,” he ordered, “drink this, and don’t speak. 
You must lie down for a few minutes, and then you’ll 
feel better.” 

I gulped down some neat brandy and dropped my 
head on to a cushion. How lovely and restful it was! 
And how far away the music sounded ! I think I must 
have fallen into a doze, for the next time I opened my 
eyes Angela was leaning over me. 

“Mr. Inderwick tells me you turned faint. Hazel. 
Are you better, and are you ready to go home ? Rose 
has come for us,” she said quite kindly. 

“Yes,” I said, “I’m quite ready,” and I rose from 
the couch. But I was still dizzy, and my knees shook 
under me. I managed, however, to get upstairs, and 
by the time my cloak and hat were on and I was outside 
in the fresh air, the world had resumed its normal pro- 
portions. 

Mr. Inderwick overtook us, and walked with us 
to our gate. 

“Thank you,” I said, as we shook hands. “It is 
the first time I have ever felt faint in my life; and I 
feel grateful to you for not fussing and announcing 
it to the room. I pride myself on my health and 
strength ; but I think it was six oyster paU& and apple- 
ducking combined.” 

“No,” he said, “it wasn’t. It was because a danc- 
[ 130 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


ing Dervish caused you to spin round for ten min- 
utes on end, and human nature couldn’t stand it. 
Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” I replied, laughing, and I went 
into the house feeling quite comforted. 

“You turned faint once before, in church, so this 
makes the second time,” remarked my sister with 
her customary accuracy. 

“ So I did,” I replied. “ I forgot.” 


[ 131 ] 


CHAPTER XI 


We Go to Tea with Mr. Inderwick, and I Describe 
the Dusting of Parian Jugs 

W HEN Mr. Inderwick’s invitation came for us 
all to go to tea (it was four days after the 
party) Angela remarked — 

“What a strange man! He is very unconventional.” 
“ Why ? ” asked mother. “ I think it’s very friendly 
and kind of him.” 

“It may be,” said Angela. “I don’t deny it; but 
it shows he is unaccustomed to the usages of good 
society,” and my sister stroked the gathers of a night- 
gown she was making with extra firmness and pre- 
cision. 

“ But why ? ” again asked mother. “ He has invited 
me to go with you both. He evidently understands 
the necessity for a chaperon, and I hope my new 
bonnet will be back in time.” 

“That is not the point,” replied Angela. “0/ 
course he realizes that it would be impossible for us 
two girls to go to the house alone.” 

“ Not at all,” I broke in. “ I shouldn’t care a button. 
I think it would be great fun to go quite by myself.” 
[ 132 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Angela regarded me in stony surprise for ten seconds, 
then she resumed her work in shocked silence. 

“Well, Angela,” resumed mother a little irritably, 
“ what do you mean ? Go on. In what way has Mr. 
Inderwick outraged that which is accepted as correct 
in good society ? ” 

“By not returning our call, for one thing. It is 
nearly three weeks since we called on him, and you 
are aware that a first call should be returned within 
seven days. And, secondly, he should have waited 
for the first invitation, for the first advance toward 
friendship, to have come from us,” and Angela closed 
her lips with a snap. 

“Stuff and nonsense! bunkum and rot!” I shouted 
— I admit, rudely. “ I never heard such nonsense in 
the whole of my life. You stay at home, Angela, if 
you are so mighty particular, and mother and Mr. 
Inderwick and I will have a nice little tea-party by 
our three selves.” 

Once again Angela regarded me in the way she 
regards spiders should they dare to cross a ceiling in 
her presence, and I shrivelled up. I cannot with- 
stand Angela’s gaze for more than sixty seconds at 
a time. My bones turn to water and my tongue cleaves 
to the roof of my mouth. 

“But really, Angela,” I continued weakly, “do you 
think we need observe all this etiquette quite so rigor- 
ously in a country village, and we have known Mr. 
Inderwick so many vears — in a fashion ? ” 

[ 133 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


My sister unbent a little. 

“ Perhaps under the circumstances, and as the 
invitation is for afternoon tea only, we might accept 
it, though I’m not sure that it is wise.” 

Then she added a five minutes’ lecture upon my 
vulgar expressions and language. 

“Where did you pick them up? It is really dis- 
tressing to hear you.” 

“From Sammy and Jerry and other nice men in 
Heatherland,” I replied, as I pushed mother into a 
chair at the writing table and placed pen and paper 
before her. 

The letter was written and sealed before Angela 
could change her mind, and I rushed off to Sammy 
with it, and told him to take it to the Old Hall Farm 
at once. 

“And don’t lose it, Sammy,” I said, “for it’s most 
important.” 

And I believe Sammy winked, but I’m not sure. I 
try not to think so. 

Tuesday seemed a long time in coming, but when 
it did it was lovely and fresh and sunny, with white 
clouds very high up in the sky chasing each other 
across the blue. 

I meant to give myself quite a long time to dress, 
but the flecks of sunshine on the lawn and bare trees 
kept inviting me to watch them. And the light and 
shadow playing hide-and-seek on the hills in Wales 
and across the fields were so delightful and frolic- 
[ 134 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


some that I was only half ready when Angela’s voice 
came up the stairs from the hall. 

“ We are ready, Hazel, and waiting.” 

“Coming,” I shouted as I slipped into my black 
coat and skirt. 

I could have wished for something different, but 
when the pale blue beaver surmounted them and I 
saw the sweeping curl of the ostrich feather on my 
hair I felt somewhat comforted. Never before had 
such a lovely hat descended upon Heatherland. “It 
will gasp,” I said to myself. “ Rosabel will be simply 
green.” 

I paused and studied myself for a moment in the 
mirror. Was the tall, black figure confronting me 
graceful or merely weedy? The section of my brain 
which is given over to vanity whispered “Graceful,” 
but the minute cell of my consciousness which contains 
a fragment of truthfulness shouted out, “No, merely 
weedy.” 

“Quite right,” I said with a sigh; “merely weedy. 
I must drink more milk and become graceful.” 

“ Hazel, are you coming ? ” came Angela’s voice. 

“Angela,” I said, as I walked slowly down the 
stairs buttoning my new, white gloves, “ it is vulgar to 
shout. You have often told me so. It is a bad ex- 
ample for Rose and Elizabeth. Besides, it does not 
look well to arrive at a place on the stroke of the hour. 
It looks greedy. It looks as though we didn’t get 
enough to eat.” 


[ 135 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


But Angela missed the latter part of my sentence. 
Her neat brown figure had vanished through the 
front door, which seemed a pity. Advice is so good 
for one at times. 

“You shouldn’t tease your sister so,” said mother 
with a sigh. “I wish you two were fonder of each 
other.” 

“Mother, darling, you might as well wish that a 
bee and a cricket would consent to keep house to- 
gether.” 

“ Which is the bee ? ” said mother with a show of 
interest. 

“Angela is,” I replied. “She is always busy, and 
is always storing up food for the winter in the shape 
of jams and pickled cabbage, bottled fruits and pic- 
kled eggs; and in addition she secretes a sharp sting 
somewhere about her person.” 

“ And you are the cricket ? ” 

“Yes, I’m— 

“ ‘ The silly young cricket, accustomed to sing 

Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, 

Who began to complain when she found that at home 

Her cupboard was empty and winter had come.’ ” 

“Yes,” said mother, “you are certainly the cricket. 
You are lazy and very naughty.” 

I laughed and hugged her. 

“Mother,” I said, “if you look at me like that I 
am bound to hug you.” 

“ How do you like my new bonnet now it’s altered ? ” 
[ 136 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


she inquired anxiously as we followed Angela through 
the gate. 

“I think it’s a perfect duck,” I replied; ‘‘and no 
wonder Mr. Inderwick invited you to tea. Chaperon, 
indeed ! A man like that doesn’t worry his head 
about chaperons.” 

Mother looked pleased. 

“ No,” she said, “ I don’t think he would.” 

The sun was shining brightly upon us as we walked 
along the Old Hall road and through a dear little 
footpath across the fields to the house. We passed 
the farmyard, with its nice-smelling hay-stacks; and 
geese hissed at us, and turkeys gobbled and strutted 
about in complete contentment, little recking of the 
proximity of Christmas with its attendant sausages 
and bread sauce. 

“I like farmyards,” I said, “and farmhouse kitch- 
ens with their old oak settles, and hams hanging from 
the blackened rafters, and blazing fires with great 
haunches of venison turning in front of them; and 
the dairy round the corner, full of cream and delicious 
yellow butter and eggs.” 

“ When butter is made at a farm the milk is gener- 
ally poor and the cream thin,” remarked Angela prac- 
tically as she rang the front-door bell. 

“What a lovely hall!” I whispered; but mother 
and Angela were far too taken up with the maid- 
servant’s appearance to listen to me. 

“ She’s dressed to-day,” I heard mother whisper. 

[ 137 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Yes, but her cap is much too jaunty. It looks 
fast,” answered Angela severely. 

I thought she looked charming, but didn’t say so. 
We were shown into a room containing four arm- 
chairs, a square, solid table, a bookcase, and a large 
man reclining in the largest armchair I have ever 
met. The man was Mr. Inderwick, and I fancy he 
was asleep from the way he started up. 

After greeting us, he placed mother in one chair with 
a hassock at her feet, which was very thoughtful of 
him. Angela in another with a cushion at her back, 
which made me want to smile. Fancy Angela with a 
cushion! And me in a third, without either cushion 
or hassock. He didn’t say much, but gave one the 
impression he was working hard. 

Then he seated himself and heaved a sigh of satis- 
faction. 

“I hope you are all comfortable, and if you want 
anything please ask for it,” he said in the tones of 
a steward on board a ship. 

We assured him we had never been so comfortable 
in our lives, and I meant it. The chair was low and 
roomy and deep, and the room gave one a sense of 
space and comfort and a freedom from small things 
which fall over. On the mantelpiece were a tall jar 
of chrysanthemums, seven pipes, and about fifty boxes 
of matches in neat little piles of dozens. A large blue 
bowl rested on the solid table at Mr. Inderwick’s 
elbow, and in it was tobacco ash — nothing else. The 
[ 138 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


bookcase reached from floor to ceiling, as mother de- 
scribed, and books of every size, shape, and description 
filled its shelves, all in perfect order and neat as a new 
pin. The carpet was warm and thick. There was 
nothing else in the room excepting the chairs we sat 
upon. 

The windows were bare of curtains, and the Dee 
could be seen stretching away like a wide, silver ribbon. 

“What a lovely view!” I said, as I stepped to the 
west window. 

“Yes, isn’t it fine?” he replied. “It would be hard 
to beat those fields just below us, and then the river 
beyond backed by the Welsh hills and a sunset once a 
day.” 

“ Not always,” I said. 

“No,” he laughed, “more’s the pity. But what I 
like about the view is, that the fields are always chang- 
ing color. First, they are a vivid green before the grass 
is cut; then they turn into a sort of silver-gray green 
when the hay has been carried ; then some of them are 
gold when the corn is ripening, and these in their turn 
become a different color when the corn has been cut; 
and then they are ploughed, and are sad and brown; 
and later they will probably be covered with snow, and 
I shall have a dazzling white world to gaze upon.” 

I looked at him in quick sympathy. 

“ You like fields and the river and those things ? ” 

“Yes,” he said simply, “I do.” 

A little cough of irritation from Angela brought me 
[ 139 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


back to my chair, and the smart maid arrived at the 
same instant with tea. 

“If you please, sir, Mrs. Egerton says as you didn’t 
tell her about the ladies coming to tea, and she has no 
cake; but she has sent in plenty of pertater cakes and 
hot scones! And when you are ready for more will 
you ring ? ” 

The maid’s voice sounded as though she were 
repeating a well-learned lesson or something out of the 
Bible. There was a sad, almost reproachful ring in 
it, and Mr. Inderwick looked guilty. 

He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket. It con- 
tained two knots, and he eyed them gravely. 

“One was to tell Mrs. Egerton about your coming 
to tea, and the other — why, what was the other?’'’ 
He stroked his head, and became lost in thought. 

“ Perhaps the other was to remind you to give us tea 
when it came,” I suggested mildly, and Angela frowned 
at me severely. 

He chuckled for a minute. 

“Perhaps it was,” he said. “I’m awfully absent- 
minded, Mrs. Wycherley, about things,” he continued, 
putting four lumps of sugar in one cup. “And I am 
always tying knots in my handkerchief, and sometimes 
it takes me an hour or so to remember what they were 
for.” 

“How awkward,” replied mother, with her eyes 
fixed on the milk-jug. “Would you like me to pour 
out for you ? ” 


[ 140 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Thanks awfully,” he said gratefully. “Was I 
doing anything wrong ? ” 

“Oh, no,” said mother, lying bravely; “but I 
know it’s a task gentlemen don’t care about,” and 
rising, she took his place. 

His relief was laughable to behold. I thought I 
had never met any one with two such strongly defined 
sides to his character. When he was doing nothing — 
merely a looker-on — he was calmness and coolness 
personified. Put him in the position of host, or a 
worker, which brought direct attention to bear upon 
him, and he was like a great awkward schoolboy. 

He became free-and-easy at once. Mother was 
the hostess for the time being, and he was so enter- 
taining, and the potato cakes were so buttery and 
good, that I felt I would like to go every day to such 
tea-parties. 

How much jollier men were than women! I re- 
flected. Aunt Menelophe said women were more 
interesting than men. I wondered where they secreted 
themselves. 

He interrupted my train of thought. 

“ You are better. Miss Hazel ? ” 

“ Quite,” I replied ; “ but how did you know ? ” 

“You seem to like potato cakes. I am glad, as I 
forgot the cake.” 

“Mr. Inderwick,” I said, “you shouldn’t comment 
upon your guests’ appetites.” 

He laughed. 


[ 141 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Was I commenting ? I am sorry. I thought I 
only said that I was glad you liked potato cakes. 
Will you have another ^ ” 

“ Please,” I replied. “ And will you tell me why you 
have so many boxes of matches on your mantelpiece ^ ” 
“ They are for lighting my pipe.” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ that is obivous. But why so many ? ” 
‘‘I don’t call that number many. I dislike the 
feeling of being short of matches. Nothing depresses 
me more. So Mrs. Egerton has instructions to put 
a gross of Bryant and May’s on my mantelpiece once 
a week.” 

“ So there is no room for ornaments ? ” 

“No,” he replied, “there’s no room for ornaments.” 
“How nice!” I ejaculated. “And you have no 
Parian jugs to wash or bronze horses to dust ? ” 

“ No. What are Parian jugs ? ” 

I had quite forgotten mother and Angela. I realized 
there was somebody in the world who hadn’t met a 
Parian jug. 

“A Parian jug is white,” I said, “and has a shaped, 
thin spout; and on the body part of the jug grapes 
and pomegranates grow, and round the neck vine 
leaves and roses cling. And once a week you have 
to scrub the grapes with a brush and soap and hot 
water, and ” 

“ Hazel,” cried mother and Angela together in 
shocked tones, “ how can you ? What are you talking 

about ? Mr. Inderwick is not interested, I ’m s ” 

[ 142 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ But I am, Mrs. Wycherley,” interrupted Mr. 
Inderwick, “ vastly interested. Go on. Miss Hazel.” 

And I went on. The blood of ancestors who had 
owned and loved Parian jugs was in my veins, and if 
I could not extol the beauties of a Parian jug, who 
could ? 

“And you were saying,” Mr. Inderwick remarked, 
with his eyes fixed on my face, “ that you take a brush 
and ” 

“Yes,” I went on, “you take a brush, and you 
worm it in and out of the grapes and pomegranates, 
and they stand forth revealed in all their pure, white 
beauty. And then you dip the jug in clean, cold 
water; and you wipe it tenderly with soft linen; and 
you blow upon it gently to dry all the little tendrils 
and curves; and lastly you place it on paper, about 
two feet from a nice, warni fire, to complete the diying. 
And then you return it carefully to its own particular 
spot on the mantelpiece.” 

“I understand,” said Mr. Inderwick softly. “And 
how do you treat bronze horses.^ I am anxious to 
learn.” 

“You flick them,” I said. “You flick them with 
a little brush made of feathers. And the legs that 
paw the air you wipe over with pure olive oil. And 
you twist the comer of a duster into a spiral point, 
like a radish, to poke into its eyes and mouth and ” 

“ Hazel, I am going,” said mother in frigid tones. 

“Yes, Mr. Inderwick, I am sure we have taken up 
[ 143 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


your time long enough. And you cannot possibly 
be interested in our private household affairs,” came 
Angela’s silky voice. “ Good afternoon.” 

And a great fear fell upon me. What had I said? 
I shivered as I thought of the walk home. I was 
only in fun, and mother would never let me come 
here again. 

They were saying good-by, and mechanically I fol- 
lowed them to the door. I peeped at Mr. Inderwick, 
and saw that he was sorry and embarrassed at their 
annoyance. 

‘‘Good-by, Mrs. Wycherley; and I hope you will 
give me the pleasure of taking tea again with me some 
day,” he said warmly. 

Then he shook hands with Angela and me, and 
was it fancy that he held mine a shade longer than 
is usual? Perhaps it was, but it helped me to endure 
the home-going lecture with some small degree of 
fortitude. 

“What a jolly tea! I have enjoyed myself,” I re- 
marked nervously as we walked across the fields. 

Then the flood-gates of Angela’s wrath broke upon 
me. Mother did not say much. I took her arm and 
whispered I was sorry, and that I had not meant to 
make fun of the jugs and horses and our method of 
cleaning them. But Angela’s words flowed on end- 
lessly. She made me think of the Amazon and other 
long rivers when they overflow their banks, and I mar- 
velled at her complete mastery of the English language. 

[ 144 ] 


CHAPTER XII 


On Wash-Days 

T O-DAY is dreary and dark. A white mist 
broods over the garden, and all the little 
arbutus trees and laurustinus bushes are 
dripping with moisture, and the mist creeps and creeps 
and crawls across the lawn like a white wraith, and 
enfolds the privet hedge and the naked rose-bushes 
in a dense, white shroud. 

November seems to be mourning and weeping for 
the dead summer, and the garden is desolate and 
depressed. 

Mother and Angela, too, are very depressed. For 
this is Monday — magic word meaning wash-day ! 
And the mist broods and clings and refuses to lift. 
And how can clothes dry in a mist? How can they 
dry when the air contains no drying properties ? 

Angela has just remarked, for the third time in the 
space of half an hour, that the wash-day must be 
postponed. There is a hopeless ring in her voice. 
She looks at the clock anxiously. Time is getting 
on. Mrs. Flutterby is waiting in the kitchen for the 
final decision — “to be or not to be?” The tubs stand 
in expectant rows in the wash-house. The mangle has 
10 [ 145 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


been oiled in its machinery parts, and its rollers have 
been scrubbed and cleansed. The dolly-peg stands 
firmly on its three legs and says, “Here I am ready 
for anything!” Packets of Reckitt’s Blue, and Hud- 
son’s Soap and Moonrise Soap and several other soaps 
are neatly stacked ready to do execution. The linen 
has been put in soak. All is ready. And still the 
mist hangs above a dank, sodden world. 

While mother and Angela discuss sadly the vagaries 
of our English climate I have crept away. My opinion 
on the really important things of this life is never asked 
for by my family. Should it be given by me unsought, 
it is not considered or valued, nor does it carry any 
weight. When I suggested that the wash-day should 
be put off, Angela snapped, “Impossible. Mrs. Flut- 
terby has arrived.” And when I said mildly, “Well, 
then, why doesn’t she begin ? ” mother replied, “ Don’t 
ask foolish questions. Look at the mist.” And when 
once again, from a sheer spirit of inquiry, I asked, 
“ Couldn’t the clothes be dried before the kitchen fire 
for once ? ” they simply looked at me as though I had 
suggested that the clothes should be dried by the fires of 
hell. “Well,” I persisted doggedly, “why shouldn’t 
they be dried in the kitchen? Other people’s clothes 
are dried in kitchens. Why shouldn’t ours ? ” And 
then they asked me if I had ever noticed the color of 
other people’s linen. Did other people’s linen look as 
though it had been dried in the pure, sweet air ? Did 
it look white as the driven snow ? Did it look clean 
[ 146 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and wholesome ? Or did it look gray and yellow and 
dirty ? “ It would be the thin edge of the wedge,” 

said Angela. Once allow the clothes by the kitchen 
fire, and Mrs. Flutterby would be always hankering 
after the kitchen fire.” 

Such reasoning I could not follow, so I stole away. 
Up here it is chilly, but it is peaceful, and I can reflect 
on life and upon the things that make up life. 

A wash-day has always been the most important 
event in our lives. When I look back upon the years 
that are gone, each Monday stands out clear and 
distinct. In fact, I sometimes feel my whole life has 
been composed of Mondays. If I close my eyes I can 
see mother’s nightgown bellying in the wind, or the 
pantry tea-cloths waving about in their exuberance at 
being released from the dolly-tub. 

Every Sunday morning in church I clasp my hands, 
and pray fervently that Monday will be fine, that a 
nice, fresh wind will blow to dry the clothes, that the 
sun may be strong to bleach and whiten them, that 
Mrs. Flutterby will be punctual to arrive and not 
thirst after too much ale throughout the day. 

I say this in the Litany when the congregation is 
interceding for the Royal Family. I am not disloyal, 
but the family washing naturally affects the tenor of 
my life more than the welfare of a mere king or queen. 

Should my prayer be answered, and Monday prove 
fine and sunny and dry, mother and Angela soar to 
great heights of happiness. And a feeling of exhilara- 
[ 147 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


tion pervades the air, such as one never experiences 
on ordinary days of the week. As the scent of Moon- 
rise Soap greets our nostrils, Angela becomes almost 
buoyant. And as the fumes of ammonia steal from the 
wash-house up the steps and along the passages and 
hall into the dining-room, she and mother exchange 
glances and smile contentedly, for does it not mean 
that Mrs. Flutterby is washing the woollens in the 
most approved and accepted fashion ? 

About ten o’clock I surprise them in furtive glances 
directed toward the window. This is the hour when 
Elizabeth should pass with the first batch of clothes 
to the drying-ground in the croft. Should she be 
late Angela begins to fidget and mother glances at 
the clock. What is the cause of the delay Has 
Mrs. Flutterby been gossiping with Elizabeth, or 
has she been indulging in too extensive a lunch ? 
She breakfasts at six, and washes a complete family 
of children and cleans a house before she comes to 
us at eight, so an early lunch is necessary. This desire 
for numerous meals causes Angela acute distress each 
week. It is not the food she grudges, but the time 
expended in eating it; and Mrs. Flutterby’s conversa- 
tional abilities are undoubtedly phenomenal. 

During our midday dinner, which is necessarily 
cold on wash-days, mother and Angela invariably 
discuss soap. In their secret hearts I am convinced 
that each is of the opinion that Moonrise Soap con- 
tains soda, but neither will allow it. The clothes are 
[ 148 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

a beautiful color, fair and white, and unsurpassed in 
Heatherland, so whatever ingredients the soap may 
contain they are loth to give it up. Then it has become 
clear to me that Angela has a leaning toward trying 
a new starch called “Tomtit,” which according to its 
advertisements, imparts a marvellous gloss to the 
linen. Mother, however, says that her mother, grand- 
mother, and great grandmother used “ Stiffrill’s ” 
starch to the end of their days, and what was good 
enough for them is good for anybody. At first she said 
this in very decided tones, but each Monday she visi- 
bly weakens in her argument. Angela is gradually 
wearing her down. It is never my sister’s method to 
get her own way too quickly. She believes in the old 
adage that continual dropping wears away a stone. 
Mother is only of red sandstone durability where An- 
gela is concerned, and she is wearing away rapidly. I 
am as convinced as Angela that by Christmas we shall 
be stiffening the collars, cuffs, and serviettes with 
“ Tomtit ” Starch. 

I remember when I was about sixteen, once playing 
a cruel, practical joke upon mother and Angela. 
Rushing into the dining-room I breathlessly announced 
that Mrs. Flutterby was boiling the blankets. 

I never knew before that mother and Angela could 
run so quickly. And unfortunately Angela tripped 
in her exceeding haste, and fell down the wash-house 
steps into a tub of blue. When I saw her emerge, 
such a fear overwhelmed me that my teeth chattered. 

[ 149 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I did not wait to listen to her conversation. I just 
bolted to the most inaccessible corner of the garden, 
where I lay down under some big rhubarb leaves and 
said my prayers. I lay there for the rest of the day 
alternately praying and eating; for dear Sammy, who 
discovered me, brought me an apple pasty from his 
own larder, so I was well nourished. When it was 
dark I crept into the house to bed, but my sleep was 
fitful. And when the next morning I was informed 
that I must write out twenty French verbs after school 
hours I did not rush at them with eagerness. In 
fact, I suggested apologizing to Angela instead, which 
proved that I must have felt pretty slack. Drawing, 
quartering, and hanging would, as a rule, have been 
an infinitely more attractive punishment to me than 
apologizing. My proposal was accepted, and with 
murder in my heart I stood before Angela and repeated 
the set formula — “ Please, Angela, I am very sorry, and 
I hope you’ll forgive me.” I never waited to hear her 
assurance of forgiveness on those trying occasions, all 
I wanted was to get away and hit something hard and 
roll the lawn. Rolling the lawn was usually the best 
sedative after too much of Angela. 

I have just been downstairs and find that wash-day 
is off. They are moderately cheerful, and are discuss- 
ing the rearrangement of the week’s work; for, of 
course, if the washing be done to-morrow instead of 
to-day the ironing must be done on Wednesday, and 
Wednesday’s work done on Thursday, and Thurs- 
[ 150 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


day’s on Friday, and Friday’s to-day, for it could not 
be got in on Saturday — kitchen-cleaning day. Oh, 
dear! I am getting quite dizzy. What I mean is, Fri- 
day’s work must be done to-day, which is a grave step 
to take, for, as Angela has just remarked, to clean the 
bath room, lavatory, hall, landings and stairs, and silver 
on a Monday instead of Friday seems like reversing the 
laws of Nature. Bath rooms are always cleaned on 
Friday mornings and silver on Friday afternoons, and 
this rule has been in force since the beginning of time. 
If Moses possessed a bath room — and probably he did, 
for he was great on sanitary laws — his wife Zipporah 
would say to him, “ Moses, will you go out for a bit and 
talk to the children of Israel, for I want to get the 
bath room and stairs cleaned, and you are in the way; 
and don’t forget to wipe your feet on the mat when you 
come in, for the wilderness is dirty at this time of the 
year.” 

Now I must go. I can hear Angela calling. She 
imagines I have been dusting my room all this time. 
It must be nice to have a vivid imagination. 

These last few days have been dull, and Angela has 
often referred to my lapse of good manners at the Old 
Hall Farm. “Never discuss your private affairs in 
public,” she says; “never be personal.” 

I have not come across Mr. Inderwick since that 
evening, though I have been on many walks. Once I 
saw him ride past the front gate, and he stared at 
our windows. I was behind the curtains, and had a 
[ 151 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

good look at him. It is so difficult to do this when 
you are with him, he has such a direct, disconcerting 
way of staring back at you. He is ugly, undoubtedly; 
at least, Angela says he is. But I am not so sure of it 
myself. He reminds me one moment of a rugged, 
craggy rock — strong, taciturn, reticent, moody, rude 
almost; and the next of a smiling, placid, gentle 
declivity — full of soft places and unexpected sym- 
pathies, light-hearted, kind, frank, and almost boyish. 
His clothes are abominable — unbrushed, wrinkly, 
with baggy pockets and hunching shoulders. His 
figure is heavy almost to ungainliness. His legs — and 
he’s always in knickerbockers — are big and his hands 
and feet are large. But when once you meet his direct 
frank gaze and big, broad smile, and hear his whole- 
some, deep-toned laugh, you forget all the ugliness and 
ruggedness and uncouthness. You just feel he’d be a 
good friend; a man who’d pull you through your tight 
places; a man to rely upon and trust; a man with a 
big mind in a big case, who would never do a mean 
thing or ever say a small one; and a man who, if he 
wanted a thing, would probably never give in till he 
had got it. 


[ 152 ] 


CHAPTER XIII 


Mr. Inderwick Accompanies me to Gayton to Buy 
Butter 

I AM experiencing an unwonted sensation of exhila- 
ration and satisfaction. Mr. Inderwick and I have 
been for a walk together, and up to the present 
Angela does not know anything about my misde- 
meanor, as she would term it. She will know sooner 
or later. Everything is known by everybody about 
everybody in Heatherland if you give it time. Quite 
ten faces peeped out from behind curtains and through 
doors as we passed along the village, and the owners 
of those ten faces naturally possess ten tongues, and 
some of them are of great length. 

Angela thought I was getting the butter at Gayton. 
So I was; but Mr. Inderwick was with me, of which 
she certainly would not approve. Mr. Inderwick is 
a man and I am a girl; therefore we should not take 
walks together. 

It seems unfortunate that men and women cannot 
be on terms of any degree of intimacy with one another 
unless they are married, and then they don’t appear 
to want to be intimate. 

Was it from a sense of facetiousness that Mrs. 
[ 153 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Butterworth started to make butter more worth one- 
and-sixpence a pound than any other in the district ? 

“It is a cruel price,” sighed mother, as she dived 
into the intricacies of her petticoat for her purse. “ In 
my young days you could get beautiful fresh for a 
shilling.” 

“Yes, but think of the price of sugar and tea in 
those days,” I responded cheerfully; but she refused 
to be cheered. 

“It was better tea and much better sugar. There 
was none of that dreadful, deceptive beet on the 
market, and the tea was not a mixture of chopped hay 
and tannin.” 

“Well, perhaps proportionately Mrs. Butterworth’s 
butter at one-and-sixpence is much superior to that 
for which you paid a shilling,” I suggested. 

Mother’s head shook gloomily. 

“ No, it isn’t,” she said; “ nothing is better.” 

I felt unequal to grappling with such pessimism, so 
I kissed her on the forehead and left her to Angela, 
who entered the room with the week’s mending in 
her arms. 

“They will be happy with that,” I said to Dibbs, 
who circled in front of me down the garden walk, and 
Dibbs barked “ So they will.” 

“Do you think they would mend me my stockings, 
Dibbs, if I asked them nicely ? ” 

“Perhaps,” said Dibbs, looldng doubtful. 

I returned to the dining-room. Mother, with a 
[ 154 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


darning needle in her hand, and her feet on a hassock, 
sat with a beatific expression on her countenance. 

“Mother, will you mend me my stockings.^” I 
asked boldly. 

“Don’t encourage Hazel in her laz ,” began 

Angela ; but mother smiled at me in acquiescence, and, 
brushing Angela on one side, I just took her in my 
arms. 

“ Mother,” I said, “ I do love you. You are kind to 
me. I do so hate mending stockings; it is not laziness.” 

“No — it is not laziness?” said mother, laughing. 
“ What is it then ? ” 

“Sheer inability. I simply can’t mend stockings. 
They pucker up, and draw and drag, and get bodgy, 
and won’t mend properly.” 

“No,” said mother, “they won’t. I redarned the 
ones you did last week.” 

“ Did you ? But what a waste of time for two people 
to mend one pair of stockings! Doesn’t it seem so to 
you ? ” 

“ Perhaps. You are very tricky. Hazel.” 

“ Am I ? ” I laughed, as I kissed her again. “ You 
have to be when you live with two such wonderfully 
clever, good women.” 

Then I whistled Dibbs, who was waiting in the 
hall with the whole cares of the world on his shoulders, 
and once more we sallied forth. 

“Now, Dibbs,” I ordered sternly, “you must behave 
to-day. No rabbits. Do you understand ? ” 

[ 155 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Yes,” said Dibbs, as he gave chase to a yellow cat 
which suddenly popped up from nowhere. 

I don’t mind how much Dibbs goes for cats. Cats 
get all they deserve — ^greedy, sneaky, bad-tempered, 
cupboard-love-for-you sort of creatures. 

It was while the cat was swearing horribly on a wall 
and Dibbs was barking deliriously at the base of the 
wall, and I was laughing immoderately in the middle 
of the village, that Mr. Inderwick walked out of the 
post office. He came straight to me in his heavy, 
direct way. 

“ Where are you going ? ” he inquired as we shook 
hands. 

“ I am going to Gayton for butter,” I replied. 

“ May I walk with you ? I am going, too.” 

“ What are you going for ? ” I asked. 

Such direct questions must be met with equal di- 
rectness. 

“ I am not going for anything specially,” he answered 
without the slightest hesitation. “I just felt as you 
were going I would go too.” 

“I see,” I said with an inward gasp. “Do you 
usually go where other people are going ? ” 

“Oh, no. It depends on the person.” 

“ But isn’t it a little awkward for the person ? ” I 
queried. 

“I don’t know. I never looked at it in that light.” 
Then he stopped suddenly. “ Don’t you want me ? ” 

“Oh, yes,” I replied, “I want you. I am glad of 
[ 156 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


your society; I am tired of lonely walks. But what 
I mean is, that sometimes if you insisted upon accom- 
panying a person upon an expedition, that person 
might find it inconvenient.” 

“ But the person could say so.” 

“Yes, I forgot that. But then shouldn’t you be 
offended ? ” 

“No. Why should I? I don’t get offended about 
things.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” I replied. “ How nice ! I am always 
getting hurt and offended at something or other.” 

“That is a pity,” he said gravely. “Life is too 
short to be offended with people about trifles. But 
then you are very young.” 

“ I suppose I am — by you.” 

He smiled one of his nice, rare smiles. 

“I am not very old, I am thirty-five. Does that 
seem very old to you ? ” 

“Pretty old,” I replied truthfully. “I shouldn’t 
care to be thirty-five.” 

“ You won’t mind so much when you get there.” 

“ Yes I shall, I shall mind horribly. I am a woman.” 

“ Do all women mind about getting old ? ” 

“Every one of them,” I answered emphatically. 
“ There are one or two liars among them who pretend 
they don’t. But they do — some more than others. 
Aunt Menelophe says the ones who have been beauti- 
ful mind the most of all. Getting old is a real grief to 
them.” 


[ 157 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Poor things,” he remarked; “one feels sorry for 
them. Can’t they do anything ? ” 

“Oh, yes. They paint and powder and massage, 
and then they look foolish.” 

“I didn’t mean that; I meant, couldn’t they do 
something to fill their lives ? ” 

“Yes. Aunt Menelophe became a ‘looker-on’ 
when she was forty, and drank tea and read novels.” 

“ That doesn’t seem much,” he said, laughing. 

“No, it doesn’t; but really she only pretends. She 
is always doing something nice and kind and unselfish 
for somebody. She leads a most useful life, and is a 
perfect dear.” 

“ She sounds nice. Tell me about her,” he said. 

That is a way Mr. Inderwick seems to have. He 
doesn’t appear rude or curious; he is just interested 
in things and is so quiet and grave and never inter- 
rupts, that you rattle away and tell him everything 
before you know you are even talking. 

I told him of Butterby and the ghost and Aunt 
Menelophe, and the Potteries and the dinner party, 
and how I dreaded coming home, and the candle 
grease; and then I stopped suddenly, and went hot 
all over. Here was I talking of our private affairs, 
discussing little home matters, saying everything 
Angela said I ought not to say. It was bad form to 
discuss personalities with a stranger. It was in bad 
taste, so she had said; and here was I outraging all 
refinement of feeling. 


[ 158 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Well ? ” said Mr. Inderwick, without looking at me. 

“ Oh, that’s all,” I replied hurriedly. 

“Rather an abrupt ending,” he said, turning and 
smiling. 

“ Yes,” I replied lamely. 

He changed the subject of conversation at once. 
He may not be polished, as Angela says, but he is 
tactful. 

“ Stop at this gate a moment. I think the best part 
of a lane is a gate. You go along for some distance, and 
you enjoy the beauty of the banks and hedges and the 
wrens popping in and out, and you think what a seduc- 
tive, beautiful thing is a narrow, green lane; and then 
a feeling comes over you all in a minute that you want 
breathing room, you want space, you want a wider 
outlook, and lo and behold a gate has appeared. You 
lean over it, and there is your space. Fields lie before 
you, with hills beyond ; the wide, open country stretches 
away. Your sense of oppression has gone.” 

He leaned against the gate as he spoke, and I fol- 
lowed his gaze across the fields and Dee to the hills in 
Wales and the Point of Air. 

“Do you know, I thought I was the only person in 
the world who felt like that ? ” I said softly. “ But 
I couldn’t have put it so well.” 

He turned one of his long, direct gazes upon me. 

“Yes,” he said, “you could. You could have put 
it better. For you are young and impulsive and bub- 
bling over with spirit. I spoke merely of a physical 
[ 159 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


feeling. I want plenty of fresh air, and narrow lanes 
are stuffy. Your feeling is purely mental. You are 
cramped, dwarfed, suffocated. You want to do some- 
thing, you don’t know what. You want to go some- 
where. You are tired of Heatherland and — ” he 
hesitated — “ Parian jugs.” 

“Yes,” I cried eagerly, “that is it. But how did 
you know ? Do you feel cramped ? Do you want to 
do something too.^ Are you tired of your narrow 
life.?” 

He looked at the hills for a moment thoughtfully. 

“ No, thank God,” he answered presently, “ I don’t 
want to do anything. I am thankful to sit down in 
my armchair and smoke and read. I am jolly grateful 
to Old Crabby that he has left me in a position to be a 
‘looker-on.’ Once I felt as you do. It was a worry- 
ing, uncomfortable sensation; but time and — trouble 
and hard work knock it out of you.” 

“ Have you had trouble .? ” I asked. 

“ Lots ! Damnable trouble ! ” 

He did not appear to be conscious that he had 
sworn. Neither did he apologize. He studied the 
little fishing-boats sailing along, with an absent eye. 
He was lost in thought, lost to the world, lost to me 
and Dibbs. 

I studied him as he stared at the boats. Yes, he 
had suffered; there was no doubt about that. His 
dark, thick hair was fiecked with gray — round the 
ears it was white. There were deep lines round his 
[ 160 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


mouth, deep parentheses, and deeper lines still on 
his forehead. A stern, rugged face — full of strength, 
unlovely in repose, perhaps, with its square chin, 
clean-shaven, and knitted eyebrows; but how won- 
derfully attractive when it was lit up by that rare 
smile! — a smile that lingers in the memory. 

“Mr. Inderwick,” I said presently, “should you 
mind coming back to the world? I have butter to 
buy at Gayton, and the time is getting on.” 

He came back slowly. Then he gave his big shoul- 
ders a shake, and stooped and patted Dibbs. Pres- 
ently he looked at me and smiled. 

“ Have I kept you ? I am sorry. I had forgot- 
ten ” 

“My existence,” I interrupted, as I moved away 
from the gate. 

“ No, I hadn’t, I was thinking of you.” 

“ May I ask in connection with what, for you looked 
sad?” 

“Did I? I was tliinking of a little sister of mine 
who also wanted to see ‘life,’ and went under.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” I asked softly. 

“ She was always a restless little soul with big 
aspirations. A quiet life in the country did not satisfy 
her. Then when my father died she, as well as I, had to 
work for our mother. I had just been called to the 
Bar, and briefs seemed to shy away from me. My 
little sister rushed at work as one usually rushes at 
pleasure. She chose the stage as a profession, and at 
11 [ 161 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


first did well; she was uncommonly pretty, with 
laughing sort of eyes and a smile like a bit of sunshine. 
Then she had an accident, not a very bad one, but her 
face and one side of her neck were a little marked — 
it was a fire. After that her engagements began to 
dwindle. Managers didn’t want her; her looks had 
gone. I don’t blame them; but she suffered acutely. 
Then she took to nursery-governessing. I alone could 
not make enough at that time to keep the three of us. 
The nursery-governessing broke her spirit, and she 
died; and I don’t wonder. I saw the woman who had 
employed her, and I saw the children — after her death 
— and I felt she was better at rest. But had I 

known ” He broke off abruptly and set his 

teeth. 

I did not say anything — there seemed to be nothing 
to say — but I think he felt my sympathy. 

“ And your mother ? ” I asked. 

“She died a year afterward from a broken heart. 
And then briefs began to come in rapidly, and I had 
any amount of money to spend on — flowers for their 
grave.” 

We walked along in silence for some time. 

“And so,” he said presently, “I am always sorry 
when I hear of young girls wanting to get away from 
home. They may be dull, and there may be Parian 
jugs to wash; but at least there is some one to take an 
interest in them and look after them.” 

“ Oh, I am well looked after,” I observed. 

[ 162 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“You say it as though you didn’t like it,” he 
laughed. » 

“I don’t.” 

“And yet you are very lucky, if you only knew it.” 

“ In what way ? ” 

“Why, that there should be some one to want to 
look after you — to be interested in your comings and 
goings, to know when you are out, to give you a wel- 
come when you come in.” 

“I don’t know that I receive much of a welcome 
from Angela.” 

“Perhaps you don’t deserve it,” he said with a 
twinkle. 

“I certainly do not deserve all I get from her in 
the way of rebuke.” 

“ What does she rebuke you about ? ” 

“Everything,” I replied with emphasis, “from the 
mere fact of my existing at all to the way I dust the 
legs of the drawing-room chairs.” 

“ Or the way, perhaps, you don’t dust them.” 

“ Yes, that’s it,” I said. 

He laughed. 

“What a jolly little place Heatherland is, and so 
pretty,” he said, looking across the river. 

I looked at him with approval. I am at once in 
touch with people who like and admire our village. 

“Yes,” I replied, “it is quite one of the loveliest 
spots in the world.” 

“ You have travelled much ? ” 

[ 163 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“No. I have been to about half a dozen places in 
my life — Birkenhead, Liverpool, Chester, Blongton, 
Stafford and Stoke, and a few small villages. Still, I 
know there is nothing to touch Heatherland.” 

He seemed amused. 

“ And you like the people ? ” 

“I dislike the people exceedingly.” 

“ Why ? ” he asked in surprise. “ I think they seem 
a very nice, decent lot. I like them, they are so kind 
and hospitable.” 

“Yes,” I said, “but you haven’t lived with them 
for twenty-one years. Do you realize what it is to live 
with the same people for twenty-one years, and nine 
out of every ten of those people are women? Why, 
already it is buzzed all over Heatherland that Mr. In- 
derwick and Miss Hazel Wycherley are taking a walk 
together along Gayton Lane this afternoon.” 

“Well,” he said, “it’s very kind of them to be so 
interested in us.” 

“Very,” I said. 

And he gave one of his gruff chuckles, and went 
on chuckling for some minutes. 

“ It seems to amuse you,” I remarked. 

“It does. After living in London and being swal- 
lowed up in a vortex of surging human beings, who 
know nothing about you and care less, it seems posi- 
tively ridiculous to me that any one should have the 
time or inclination to be interested in your move- 
ments.” 


[ 164 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Oh, they’ve plenty of time,” I said, as I stopped 
at Mrs. Butterworth’s farm and knocked at the door. 

Mrs. Butterworth is precisely the kind of woman 
who ought to keep a farm. It is rarely people look 
their profession. Mrs. Butterworth does. She is 
plump and apple-cheeked, and smiling and cheery. 
That she keeps cows and pigs, and horses and geese 
you would know instinctively at one glance. Her 
very mouth gives her away. You can see it is in the 
habit of saying “ C — up ! c — up ! c — up ! ” when she is 
desirous that the cows shall come home to be milked. 
Mrs. Butterworth says “C — up” when Mr. Butter- 
worth and the farm-help are too engaged to say it. 
Her real province in life is to make butter and bread 
and look after the house, and “C — up” is only a 
digression. 

“How are you. Miss Hazel? Come in. And how 
do you do, Mr. Inderwick?” says she, bustling in 
before us and dusting two clean, oak chairs. 

Mr. Inderwick looks surprised. He has never 
seen Mrs. Butterworth before in his life, or heard of 
her till two hours previously. 

Then she begins to talk, and tells him many things 
about his movements and plans and doings that he 
evidently did not know himself. 

“And you are goin’ to try sheep. There’s many 
a lot of us as try sheep, and all glad to see the last 
of their foolish, starin’ faces.” 

He looked puzzled, and passed his hand over his hair. 

[ 165 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


How do you mean ? ” he inquired. 

“ Well, Mr. Littlewood, your new bailiff, was a-sayin’ 
you were goin’ to keep sheep, and Butterworth he 
said he didn’t envy you, and you’d soon be rare glad 
to be quit of them,” and Mrs. Butterworth poked the 
fire vigorously. 

“ Am I going to keep sheep ? ” he said feebly. 

Mrs. Butterworth looked at him a little pityingly. 

“ Well, you know your own business best. I’m only 
a-tellin’ you what Mr. Littlewood says to me.” 

“Oh, of course, of course! I remember now. Of 
course I am going to keep sheep,” he remarked hur- 
riedly. 

Mrs. Butterworth eyed him with suspicion. 

“ Perhaps you don’t know much about farmin’ ? ” 

“No, I don’t,” he said with relief, “that’s a fact. 
Up to the present I have left things to Littlewood. A 
good man is Littlewood, Mrs. Butterworth, a very 
good man.” 

“Yes,” she replied dryly, “Littlewood is a good 
man, but he wants a head.” 

“ Yes, yes,” he answered nervously. 

“ And you are goin’ to learn farmin’ ? ” she went on 
with firmness. 

“ Yes,” he replied meekly, “ I will learn farming.” 

“That’s right,” she said heartily. “Nothin’ like 
havin’ a good man at the helm in farmin’. For what 
with contendin’ with the Lord’s weather which He 
is pleased to send us when any think special is on, 
[ 166 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


such as haymakin’ and cuttin’ the corn, and what with 
low prices and the markets flooded with American 
horseflesh and inferior wheat, it takes a farmer all his 
time to get along and pay his way and have a half-hour 
to spare to attend a harvest festival. And now,” she 
continued, “you must have a cup of tea, both of you. 
The kettle’s boilin’ fit to drive a steam engine.” 

She brought forth honey, and she brought forth 
milk, and she brought forth oat-cakes on a steaming 
hot dish. And a very merry party we were, at least 
Mrs. Butterworth and I were merry, while Mr. 
Inderwick was silently cheerful. The red-tiled floor 
and the old, blue plates and pewter pots on the 
dresser and mantelshelf were good to look upon, and 
the old-fashioned, comfortable armchairs very good to 
sit in. 

“ But we must go,” I said at the end of an hour, “or 
mother and Angela will be dragging the Puddydale for 
my body. I am not allowed out after dark.” 

We returned home through the fields above the 
shore. The light was fading, and a crescent moon 
hung in the sky above us. There was a slight touch of 
frost in the air, just enough to whip up the blood in 
one’s cheeks and cause them to glow. 

I chattered and he listened. At last I stopped and 
said, “ Won’t ymi talk now for a change ? I am tired of 
my own voice.” 

“ Really ? ” he asked in such surprise that against my 
inclination I laughed. 


[ 167 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“That is rather nasty of you. Do you think I am 
such a tremendous chatterbox ? ” 

“Yes,” he replied with such conviction that I again 
laughed. 

“But I like to hear you,” he went on. “Some of 
what you say is — excuse me — nonsense, but I enjoy 
it nevertheless.” 

“ Thank you,” I said with sarcasm. 

“Now please don’t get annoyed,” he laughed; 
“ that is the worst of women, they are so touchy.” 

“I was just wondering if it could be less than a 
month I have known you,” I observed. 

“No, it is much more — it is fourteen years. You 
forget we first met on the seashore.” 

He held out his hand to say good-by. 

“ Good-night,” I said, laughing. 

I was half-way up the steps, when he called me back 
without ceremony. 

“ One moment. Have you enjoyed our walk ? ” 

“Yes, thanks,” I replied, “though you are somewhat 
plain-spoken.” 

He waved that on one side. 

“I have tremendously. We will go another some 
day soon.” 

“Will we?” 

I felt suddenly nervous. 

“Yes,” he said. “When could you go ? We used to 
be out a lot together, you will remember.” 

“ I was a little girl then,” I said feebly. 

[ 168 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ I don’t think you are much more now,” he replied, 
regarding me gravely. “Anyway, I will be on the 
look-out for you. Good-by!” And then he went 
away. 


[ 169 ] 


CHAPTER XIV 


I Tamper Successfully with a Keyhole and Lunch at 
Piper’s Well 

H OW the months race by!” I said at breakfast 
this morning. “ Can it be possible that 
December is with us ? ” 

And Angela replied : 

“Quite possible, and we must get the raisins stoned 
to-day for the puddings.” V 

I wished I had not mentioned the time of the year. 
Angela might have forgotten it. There was just a 
ghost of a chance she might have forgotten, for I heard 
her making plans with mother to visit Susan Potts, who 
had a thirteenth little Potts yesterday. The Potts’s 
baby was abandoned at once. 

“ It can wait,” she said. 

“ But supposing it is delicate, and dies ? ” I suggested. 
I too had been making plans, and certainly stoning 
raisins had not entered into them. The morning was 
so beautiful and fresh, that I had felt it would be sinful 
to spend it in a house with four women and furniture. 

“I will go off for the day with Dibbs,” I arranged 
with myself. “We will take a meat pasty and a jam 
[ 170 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


turnover. I will steal them from the larder for our 
lunch. I will point-blank refuse to do a single thing in 
the way of housework, and just as Angela is hurrying 
off to tell mother of my insubordination, I will slip 
quietly out of the front door and be half-way along 
Sandy Lane before she can draw breath.” 

“It won’t die,” said Angela with decision. “Mrs. 
Potts’s babies don’t die. And if it did, Mr. Oates 
should be there as the rector of the parish, and not I.” 

“Are there any raisins in the store-cupboard?” I 
next asked weakly. “ I noticed there were not many in 
the spotted dog pudding we had the other day.” 

Angela looked at me in the way I least like of all 
her looks. 

“Spotted dog is never made of raisins. Surely you 
must know that. Currants only are used, and there 
were plenty in the pudding. I ordered the raisins for 
the Christmas puddings and mince-meat a week ago. 
There are four blue bags on the second shelf in the store- 
cupboard. Will you kindly get them out while I set 
Rose and Elizabeth their work for the day. We must 
have a little extra cleaning done as Christmas is so 
close at hand.” 

“ Angela,” I cried eagerly, “ couldn’t Rose and 
Elizabeth help us just for once ? We should get through 
the stoning so quickly if there were four of us at it.” 

“Certainly not,” replied my sister, snapping her 
jaws together. “They have something else to do. 
How can you ask such a futile question when you 
[ 171 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


know it takes them all their time to get through the 
work as it is ? Now will you get the raisins and make 
a start ? They will take us at least four or five hours to 
stone. I am making an extra quantity of mince-meat 
this year.” 

I watched her neat figure disappear across the hall 
and up the staircase. What an unyielding back and 
determined gait! I knew I might as well argue with 
a piece of flint. All my life I have been curiously 
obedient to Angela. She seems to possess some occult 
power of making me do exactly as she wishes. With 
other people I can hold my own, but where Angela is 
concerned I am as weak as dish-water. 

My feet dragged me heavily to the store-cupboard 
in the kitchen. I wished the key would break in the 
lock, but it turned like greased lightning. Suddenly 
an inspiration came straight from he — heaven. I am 
sure it was from heaven, from my comfortable sort of 
peaceful, happy feeling. Had it been from the other 
place, surely I should have had twinges of remorse 
throughout the day, and I can truthfully say I have 
never had one. 

Rose and Elizabeth were upstairs making beds. 
Angela was also up above doing her duty in some 
shape or form. Mother was in the garden with Sammy 
ordering the vegetables. The coast was clear. On tip- 
toe I crept to the back door, thence to the gravelled 
walk, from which I selected two tiny pebbles. I had 
no intention of slinging them at Angela as David did 
[m] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


at Goliath. Murder was not in my heart. I was 
merely going to let them slip into the keyhole of the 
store-cupboard. I tiptoed back. I held my breath. 
Then the pebbles seemed of their own accord to walk 
into the keyhole. The deed was done. Only a lock- 
smith or dynamite could have opened that door. I sat 
down on the Windsor chair and swayed about with 
silent laughter. The thought of Angela’s face caused 
me pain. It caught me in the ribs, and I suffered 
considerably. 

Presently I controlled myself suflSciently to call to my 
sister at the bottom of the stairs the unfortunate news. 

“ The key won’t turn ? ” 

I could hear the surprise in her voice. 

“No,” I cried; “nothing will make it.” 

This I knew to be true, and I had no prickings of 
conscience. 

“ It’s very strange,” muttered Angela, as she hurried 
down the stairs; “ let me try.” 

And she did try. She tried for half an hour, and 
I helped her. I never helped her so much in my life, 
and almost felt sorry for her as I saw her worried face. 

Mother, Rose, and Elizabeth all came and watched 
us; and then they tried in their turn, and worked 
very hard. 

“Bill Bonnyman must be fetched,” said Angela at 
length. 

“He is certain to be out,” I ventured; “he always 
is. Shall I go and leave a message for to-morrow ? ” 
[ 173 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


She reflected for a moment. 

“Yes,” she said at length, “engage him to come 
the first thing in the morning. We can’t do the raisins 
to-day.” 

“ Can’t we ? ” I tried to make my voice sound regret- 
ful. “ What about getting some village raisins ? ” 

“On no account. They are dreadful, and full of 
bits of stone and grit.” 

I expected this answer, and walked off with a light 
heart. 

I secreted the meat pasty and jam turnover, and 
then I got ready. Elizabeth was cleaning the steps at 
the gate as I went out. 

“Elizabeth,” I said, “will you tell mother I shan’t 
be in to dinner ? As there are no raisins to stone there 
is nothing for me to do to-day, so I have seized the 
opportunity of taking a long walk with Dibbs. He 
badly wants exercise; he is getting so fat that I fear 
apoplexy may overtake him.” 

“Yes, Miss Hazel,” replied Elizabeth, as she rubbed 
her hearthstone from one side of the wet step to the 
other. 

What I like about Elizabeth is that she never com- 
ments upon my movements, as do Sammy and Rose. 
The latter would have said, “ Eh, Miss Hazel, have you 
forgotten it’s the day for putting clean papers on the 
shelves of the cupboard in the dining-room.^” But 
Elizabeth does not remind me of such trivial matters. 
She takes a wider view of life. She knows that fresh 
tm] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


air and sunshine are much more essential to one’s well- 
being than superhuman cleanliness in a remote cup- 
board. 

I watched her as she swayed her body across the 
steps. My heart warmed to her. What a well-shaped 
arm she had, and such a kind, refined face. 

“Elizabeth,” I said carelessly, “you need not say 
anything about my having gone for a walk for at least 
an hour. Miss Angela will probably go and see Mrs. 
Potts’s new baby, and that is the way I am going after 
I have been to the plumber’s, and — and I don’t care 
about seeing the baby. You understand ? ” 

“Yes, Miss Hazel,” said Elizabeth imperturbably. 

“ Good-morning, Elizabeth; I shall be back to tea.” 

“ Good-morning, Miss Hazel.” 

As I walked to the village I decided that a pale-blue 
silk scarf would suit Elizabeth admirably. Christmas 
was near, and I would spend two-and-elevenpence on it 
instead of one-and-elevenpence, the sum I usually 
expended on presents for the servants. 

Bill Bonnyman was in. I stared at him in amaze- 
ment. The first plumber who has ever been in since the 
world cooled down sufficiently to support life. 

“ Are you ill. Bill ? ” I inquired kindly. 

“ No, Miss Hazelt. Why should I be ill ? ” 

“ Oh, I just thought you might be,” I said. “There 
is a good deal of sickness about.” 

“ No, thank you kindly, I was never better in my life.” 

“ That’s right. I have come to know when you 
£1763 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


could call to open the store-cupboard in the kitchen; 
the key won’t turn, and it’s very awkward not being able 
to get into it.” 

“Why, I can come right away. Miss Hazelt,” he 
said warmly. 

“ Oh, don’t hurry. Bill, don’t hurry,” I cried hastily. 
“To-morrow will do perfectly; it isn’t convenient 
to-day.” 

I felt myself going red, and Bill eyed me in a sur- 
prised way. 

“ Well, it would suit me better to come to-day. I 
was just waitin’ for a job. To-morrow I am full up. 
I couldn’t come for two or three days. I’m sorry it 
don’t suit you to-day.” 

“Yes, it’s a pity. Bill; but the fact is, I shall be out, 

and — and ” I paused in confusion, and Bill’s 

eyes rounded. 

Then I became desperate. 

“ Look here. Bill,” I said in a low voice, as I slipped 
a shilling into his hand, “ you will probably find some- 
thing in the keyhole — crumbs or grit, or even a pebble. 
But I shouldn’t say anything about it if I were you ; it 
— it would only worry Mrs. Wycherley and Miss An- 
gela, and — well, I should keep quiet about it.” 

I held my breath. I hardly dared look at him. Would 
he wink and be cheeky ? or would he be respectful and 
kind and sympathetic ? I knew I had laid myself open 
to familiarity. I had confided in him, I had bribed him. 
Some day he might levy blackmail upon me. I shuffled 
[ 176 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


uneasily fi^>m one foot to the other; I gave Dibbs an 
unexpected caress; I readjusted my hatpins. Then I 
stole a glance at him and his right palm. The shilling 
had disappeared, and he was staring hard at the sun- 
shine. His face was expressionless, his attitude was 
quite respectful. I could hardly keep myself from hug- 
ging him. A duke could not have displayed greater 
tact or truer refinement of feeling. Bill may be a 
common village plumber, joiner, carpenter, painter and 
decorator rolled in one, but he is every inch a gentleman. 

“ You understand. Bill ? ” 

“ Quite,” he replied gravely. 

“Good-day, Bill.” 

“ Good-day, Miss Hazelt,” and he touched his cap. 

I retraced my steps through the village, passed our 
own gate at a run, and made for Oldfield Common. 

I tried to decide which I loved the better of the two — 
Elizabeth or Bill. My heart was full to overflowing 
with the milk of human kindness. I almost wished 
disaster could overtake them, so that I might be their 
friend and do kind things for them. I called Dibbs and 
hugged him hard. He seemed annoyed, and wriggled 
out of my embrace. He does not like to be kissed when 
rabbits are knocking about. 

What an absolutely perfect, heavenly morning it 
was. There had been a ground frost the previous 
night, and the fields and heather sparkled in the sun- 
shine. Under the sheltering hedges the banks were still 
frozen, but beneath the sun’s rays the little sparklets in 
12 [ 177 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


the middle of the road were rapidly disappearing. The 
sky was of a brilliant azure, against which the branches 
and twigs of the bare oaks stood out like black filigree 
work, motionless in the wonderful stillness of the 
atmosphere. The Dee lay like a beautiful sapphire set 
about with hills of amethyst, and the air was so full of 
champagne and other fizzy properties that my feet 
fairly danced beneath me, and at last I was obliged to 
run — my legs simply made me — and like an india-rubber 
ball I bounced across the common with Dibbs snapping 
wildly at my heels. 

I saw some one coming along in the distance — a man ! 
I made my feet stop, and my heart bounced instead. 
Then I became quite unconcerned and indifferent in 
my manner. I allowed my gaze to rest upon the beau- 
tiful view to my left, and I studied it carefully till I was 
almost up to the person. Then I raised my eyes in 
well-feigned surprise and saw — Frederick Moss in a 
violent art-green Norfolk suit, and a soft, felt, wide- 
awake hat. 

I have never loved Frederick Moss, and at that mo- 
ment I disliked him excessively. 

Why should he be walking across Oldfield Common 
when it might have been — somebody else ? Somebody 
who was a real man and not a poet with weak legs. 

“ Lady, well met ! ” he said, with his eyes on the sky. 

“Not at all,” I retorted crossly. 

He brought his gaze to earth and looked at me re- 
proachfully. 


[ 178 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ You are modest. I was just wishing for a S3anpa- 
thetic companion. I will turn and walk with you.’’ 

“I shan’t be sympathetic.” 

“ But you can be.” 

“ Couldn’t to-day. Don’t feel like it.” 

He sighed. 

“ But you have only to — to ” 

“Listen,” I interrupted, “but unfortunately I don’t 
feel like listening.” 

“Well, you — ^you could talk,” he spoke in an unself- 
ish sort of way. 

I laughed. 

“No, I don’t want to talk, Frederick, thanks all the 
same. I want to think.” 

“Ah! I know that feeling well,” he said eagerly. 
“Sometimes I feel I must be alone, by myself, no one 
near me. Alone with nature, with the sun, the moon, 
the stars, the wind in the grass, the sea lashing the rocks, 
the birds on a morning in June, the ” 

“Slugs on a night of July,” I completed. “And, as 
that is exactly my feeling this morning, I will bid you 
good-by. I want to be alone.” 

“ Why are you always so cruel ? ” he murmured 
plaintively, placing his hat at a more fascinating angle, 
“ Oh, Hazel of the deep blue ” 

“Frederick,” I said, “if you repeat those lines once 
again, I shall be obliged to cut you for life.” 

“ Most girls would be flattered by — at receiving lines 
from a poet — even though a minor one,” he said sulkily. 

[ 179 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I laughed outright. 

“ Most girls would be nothing of the kind,” I retorted. 
“ I know girls better than you know them, and few would 
have been as patient as I. My home-training has schooled 
me to a large forbearance toward all small things.” 

“You will tease so,” he sighed. “Now if I were to 
believe that you regard a poem as a small thing I ” 

“I wasn’t referring to a poem,” I broke in, “but a 
poet. It is so diflScult to make you see a thing, Fred- 
erick. And now I really must leave you.” 

“ One moment,” he cried, hurrying after me. “ You 
are so full of mischief, raillery, that you cause a fellow 
much — unhappiness. Be serious for a moment. Hazel. 
Beneath your light, airy, flippant manner, lies a deep 
undercurrent of strong womanly feeling I know. A 
strong womanly heart beats ” 

“Of course it does, or I shouldn’t be here,” I ob- 
served. 

He regarded me in a pained way. 

“You have such a disconcerting habit of interrupt- 
ing. I was saying ” 

“You were talking a lot of rubbish, and to put it 
quite plainly, it was all leading up to the recital of a 
new poem dedicated to the moon or a marigold or a 
mangel worzel, now, wasn’t it ? ” 

“No,” he replied loftily, “not to one of those three 
things, but to the sun, the lord of day, the life-giving, 
life-heating orb which swings in space.” 

“Oh!” I said. 


[ 180 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“It came to me in the night, suddenly; flooded my 
being with a blinding radiance.” 

“But surely that was the moon,” I ventured; “the 
sun doesn’t shine at night.” 

He looked cross. 

“I speak in metaphor.” 

“ Oh, do you ? ” 

“ Will you lend me your ear, your intelligence, your 
critical faculty for one moment, and I will repeat the 
lines,” he placed his hand on his heart. “ I would like 
your opinion.” 

“You probably won’t when you get it,” I hastened 
to say. 

“I will risk that, lady. A true artist is never dis- 
turbed by the opinion of the world. When he has 
created a thing which he knows to be good, he is 
satisfied.” 

“I see,” I said. 

“ Shall we walk on ? ” 

“No, I prefer to hear it standing.” My voice was 
resigned. 

“Thanks; the opening lines are strong, I think.” 

“Stupendous orb, most glorious Sun, 

When will thy sacred course be run?” 

He paused, but I made no sign. 

“Shalt thou forever shine on high 
And reign rejoicing in the sky ? 

Six thousand years have passed away 
Since dawned creation’s awful day.’' 

[ 181 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Stop,” I cried. “You’ve got wrong in your dates. 
Billions, you mean.” 

“Not at all. Genesis has been my text-book; be- 
sides, billions is an inartistic word.” 

“ So you would sacrifice truth to art ? ” 

“ Certainly, when necessary.” 

“Goon.” 

“ You are interested ? ” 

“I would like to hear if there are any further rash 
statements.” 


“Stupendous orb, most glorious Sun 
When — ” 

“ But you’ve said all that before,” I cried hastily. 

“ I am obliged to begin all over again when I am in- 
terrupted. Surely you must remember ? ” 

“ I had forgotten,” I replied sadly. 

This time I took care not to interrupt him by so much 
as a groan, not even over the most excruciating lines. 

“ Thanks,” I said when he had finished. 

“No comments ? ” he inquired airily. “ Of course, 
I know as yet I’m only a minor poet, but I don’t think 
it’s a bad little thing ? ” 

“Not so very bad,” I murmured. “Good-by,” and 
picking up my skirts, I took to my heels and ran. 

This, I find, is the best way of getting rid of minor 
poets. Run away from them. 

Soon the Oldfield Farm appeared in sight. It wore 
a pleasant, hospitable air, and I knew its milk to be the 
[ 182 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


best in Heatherland. I persuaded Miss Swiftly to put 
me some in a pint bottle, and lend me an old cup. I 
wanted to lunch out of doors. In addition, she gave me 
a lovely, freshly-made scone covered with her own 
fresh butter. 

*‘You are a dear. Miss Swiftly, and I already feel 
rampageously hungry. I shall go straight away to 
Piper’s Well and picnic there, and on my return journey 
I will leave you the bottle and cup.” 

“Don’t you trouble. Miss Hazel,” she said. “You 
are quite welcome to them. And you might be going 
back another way. I hear there is a shooting party 
over the Durdans, and Mr. Inderwick is there. I’m 
told that you and he are great friends,” and she gave a 
foolish little giggle. 

I stared at her for a moment. So village gossip about 
our walk was evidently in full swing, and had reached 
as far as Oldfield Farm. How I loathed villagers. 
What a set of babbling, chattering, gossiping poll- 
parrots they were. Why couldn’t they attend to their 
own business ? I had noticed those ten heads peeping 
round muslin blinds that day, but then they so often 
peeped, even when I was quite alone. It was really 
terribly confining and cramping living in such an 
atmosphere. I felt stifled and oppressed. 

I met Miss Swiftly’s inquisitive, amused, quizzical 
look with a bold front. 

“You have been misinformed if you have been told 
that Mr. Inderwick and I are great friends. I have met 
[ 183 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


him about three times since he came to Heatherland. 
At present he is an acquaintance. Some day I hope to 
reckon him as my friend. The village is simply a little 
premature.” 

I succeeded in keeping my voice calm and even, but 
as I walked away I was shaking with temper. My day 
was spoiled. I walked mechanically to Piper’s Well. 
I sat down and listened to the little babbling noise of 
the water as it sprang from a grassy bank to the stones 
below. 

“ God,” I said, “ I wish you would destroy the village 
of Heatherland as you did Sodom and Gomorrah of 
old with fire and brimstone, and I would fly first to 
Aunt Menelophe as Lot escaped to Zoar. Of course, 
too, I should like mother and Angela to be saved. 
Probably Angela would look back and be turned into 
a pillar of salt; and, on the whole, it would not be a 
bad end for her, or one she would dislike, as it would 
be so clean and healthy.” 

Then I ate my meat pasty, and Dibbs prodded me 
with a gentle paw. We had mouthfuls alternately and 
sips of the milk. Dibbs enjoyed his lunch, and de- 
voured three-quarters of the scone, but I didn’t care 
for such a gross thing as food. I merely ate to live. 
My mind was engrossed with sombre thoughts on vil- 
lage life. I think people who write exquisite idylls 
about simple, primitive country-folk have never lived 
in a village, or they couldn’t pen such drivel. They 
probably flop down into one for a week or two’s rest to 

[ 184 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


recruit their forces and energy to grapple with the stren- 
uousness of their lives in town. Then they tear back to 
their big cities and rave about everything : cows stand- 
ing knee-deep in lush meadows; quaint, old-world, 
thatched cottages; ducks waddling on village greens; 
rustic maidens with pink cheeks, shy eyes, and shapes 
like a Venus de Milo; dear old simple men and women 
— every one of them over eighty — sitting dozing and 
babbling and crooning in the sunshine at their spotless 
cottage doors; fragrant, old-fashioned gardens full of 
sweet-scented lavender bushes, columbines, sweet- 
williams and cockle-shells; the whole land overflowing 
with fresh yellow butter, cream, honey, and eggs; no 
poverty, no sin, no crime; every inhabitant as guileless 
as a sleeping kitten. 

It is a pretty fancy, and some of it is not purely the 
outcome of a vivid imagination. We have thatched 
cottages and columbines and cockle-shells by the gross. 
We have cows and lush meadows and even a few ducks. 
In addition, we have the Dee with its ceaseless ebb and 
flow, and the Welsh hills enfolded in their witchery of 
blue and purple and shadowy gray mists. We have 
quiet dawns, with the sun creeping up behind the hills, 
and wondrous golden sunsets, when the Dee is trans- 
formed into a river of molten glory. We have fresh 
butter — at an exorbitant price — and heather, and 
honey, and eggs at certain periods of the year when the 
fowls cease moulting and sitting. We have fragrant 
flowers and many fruits of the earth and beautiful old 
[ 185 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


gardens. We have maidens with pink cheeks, though 
their eyes are anything but shy, and their shapes resem- 
ble oven-bottom loaves. We have old men and women 
who very occasionally sit at their cottage doors, none of 
them caring too much for fresh air; but where, oh 
where, are the dear, simple-minded guileless ones ? 
Do innocent, pure-hearted, kindly, selfless, venerable 
men and women of villages exist only in the pages of a 
novel, or is my sense of perception void ? Fancy calling 
Miss Swiftly simple-minded! But of course she is not 
old. She may become everything that is desirable by 
the time she has reached eighty, gossiping, imaginative, 
old scandal-monger! A village would be the most de- 
lightful thing in the world if there were no people 
in it. 

I sat and mused by the well till Dibbs became im- 
patient, and a little shiver ran over me. After all, it 
was December, and when the sun began to make its 
first move toward the west the air at once became 
colder. There was going to be another frost, one 
could feel it approaching, and the branches of the 
trees stood motionless as though gathering together 
all their resources to withstand the enemy. Not a 
blade of grass or a twig moved; everything was as 
still as death; only the spring sang and spirtled, and 
gurgled and tumbled. I rinsed the bottle and cup 
in the falling water, and bathed my face and hands in 
its iciness. 

“ I will go home,” I said out loud. 

[ 186 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


My desire for a long walk had gone. The glamour 
and beauty of the day were fading, my spirits were 
down to zero. I felt that it was hard that the world 
would not allow me to contract a simple friendship 
with a man who my instinct told me was of good, 
solid gold when once you penetrated his rough outer 
crust. I had so enjoyed that walk, so appreciated his 
direct, straight mode of speech, been so carried away 
and impressed with the breadth of his views and 
simplicity of thought. I had never met any one who 
appeared so utterly indifferent to the opinion of his 
fellow-creatures. Not because he was hide-bound 
with self -appreciation and egotism or conceit, of that 
I was sure, for he seemed quite unself-conscious and 
simple, but because it never appeared to enter his 
head for one moment that people might be interested 
in his movements, sayings, or doings. What he wanted 
to do he went straight away and did. 

Oh, how I wished that I had been gifted with a 
like strength of character. Why should I consider 
the world’s opinion of me, so long as I did what I 
knew to be harmless ? The world did nothing for me. 
Why should I give up my walks with Mr. Inderwick 
to please it ? I knew, too, that I should really please it 
much more if I continued them. That was the point. 
Heatherland would be down on me to a woman if I were 
again seen with him alone ; but if I were not the savor 
would be gone out of their lives. I realized that this 
savor would be no longer provided by me. I don’t 
[ 187 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


think I am of that type of girl who is never so happy 
as when she is causing a sensation. In theory I glory 
in the thought of defying all the narrow conventional- 
ities of society. I bristle with bravery in the privacy of 
my room. Put me in the full glare of public opinion, 
and under the pitiless gaze of the women of the village, 
and I am simply abject. 

I shook out iny skirts, and metaphorically thrust 
Mr. Inderwick out of my path. He must go. He 
had said, “We will have many walks together.” He 
was a dense man ; he didn’t understand things. “ Come 
along, Dibbs, my friendship with Mr. Inderwick is off,” 
I said, and we started down the field for the shore, as I 
intended returning home that way, and would give 
Miss Swiftly her bottle and cup some other day. 

We had gone about a hundred yards, when I heard 
a shout behind. Some one was calling my name. It 
was Mr. Inderwick’s voice, but I wouldn’t hear. I 
stumped firmly along, for had I not just decided that 
our friendship must cease? We must in future only 
meet as ordinary acquaintances in drawing-rooms. 

Again he called, and this time in a somewhat per- 
emptory fashion, “Miss Hazel, wait a minute.” 

But still I would not hear. Probably Heatherland 
had secured, at that very moment, a lighthouse from 
somewhere, and was sitting up in it with telescopes 
and field-glasses surveying the landscape. 

“ Miss Hazel, are you stone-deaf ? ” 

Tills was rude, and he must be told so. I turned 
[ 188 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


round slowly, and watched his approach. As he came 
nearer I observed he was limping, and that his mouth 
was set as though in pain. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” I asked quickly. 

“ Oh, I have hurt my ankle — given it a bit of twist — 
and racing after you has not improved it. Were you 
walking for a wager ? ” 

He sounded cross, but I could see he was in pain, 
so I answered gently : 

“Sit down on this stile for a minute and unlace 
your boot. How did it happen ? And why have you 
raced after me, when every step has probably injured 
you seriously ? You should have gone to Miss 
Swiftly’s.” 

“ I did, and she told me you were at the Well, so I 
came after you.” 

“But that was very unwise. A twisted ankle is not 
a thing to play with.” 

“Look here,” he interrupted, “don’t begin to 
preach. It’s not hurt badly — no sprain or anything 
serious — and I thought we could go home together. 
Miss Swiftly is lending me her trap, and perhaps you 
would like a lift.” 

“No, thanks,” I said stiffly; “I am returning by 
the shore.” 

“But need you? Couldn’t you just as well come 
with me, and I would take you a bit of a drive first ? ” 

His tone was eager, and the offer was tempting. 
Drives didn’t often come my way. He sat down and 
[ 189 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAN^) 


began to unlace his boot, and his mouth screwed up 
as though it hurt him. 

“ Will you ? ” he said again. 

“No, I can’t.” 

“ Why not ? Don’t you like driving ? ” 

“Very much.” 

“Well, then, why not come? You will be quite 
safe with me. I am accustomed to everything in the 
shape of horseflesh. You needn’t be nervous.” 

“I am not,” I replied sharply. “I am not nervous 
of anything.” 

“Oh, well, then, that’s settled,” he said calmly. 
“Deuce, how my ankle’s swollen! Just look.” 

I looked, and it was certainly very puffy and fat. 
He regarded it ruefully. 

“That’s through not looking before you leap. I 
jumped over a pretty stiff fence and landed in a rabbit 
hole. I was shooting with some men over the Durdans, 
and pretty nearly shot myself.” 

“You are too big and heavy to go vaulting fences 
like a schoolboy,” I commented severely. “I don’t 
know how you are going to get home.” 

“ I do,” he answered composedly. “ It is not so bad 
as all that. It looks worse than it is. I shall just ask 
you to be so good as to give me a bit of help across this 
field to the farm, and the rest will be easy.” 

“ I am afraid I shan’t be much use. I am not very 
strong.” 

“Yes, excuse me, you are. You are the strongest 
[ 190 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


young lady I have met. And now may I lean on your 
shoulder ? I am sorry to trouble you, but I won’t bear 
more heavily than I can help.” 

He did so without further formality. He was still 
without his boot, and limped along in his stocking foot. 

“We might be Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester,” I 
began, then I could have bitten out my tongue. 

“Yes, only you will perhaps remember Jane was 
kind and sympathetic,” he said, turning and looking 
into my face with a smile. 

“I think I have been extremely sympathetic,” I 
retorted. 

“Indeed! I was just at the moment reflecting I had 
rarely met with any one who seemed more bored at 
doing a little kindness.” 

“I am not bored,” I flashed out, “only ” 

“Only what?” 

I was mute. I could not tell him that though greatly 
enjoying the situation, I was convinced that telescopes 
were being turned on to us from various points of 
Heatherland, and that behind each sat a woman, a 
woman with an inordinate love of gossip and an imag- 
ination as vivid as the noonday sun. 

“ Only what ? ” he repeated. 

I wriggled in spirit. What a persistent man he was ! 
And it was so difficult to tell lies beneath that steady 
gaze. 

“ I have my reasons,” I said at length doggedly. 

“Yes, so I suppose, and I am trying to get at them. 

[ 191 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


You were so nice and friendly the other day, and we 
had such a jolly walk, and now — well, now you treat 
me as though I were a stranger, and instead of offering 
the cup of cold water you pass over to the other side. 
And it is not very nice of you, considering you are 
religious.” 

I could not help laughing at his tone. 

“But I am not religious. I am dreadfully wicked. 
If you only knew what I had done to-day,” and I told 
him about the keyhole. 

He chuckled for a few minutes. 

“ Yes, I think you are pretty wicked,” he said, “ but 
at the same time I fancy you are religious. You never 
miss saying your prayers or reading your Bible morn- 
ing and night, or going to church; and you give to the 
poor, and to missionaries, and waifs and strays; and 
you go to sewing meetings, and visit your district, and 
read to bhnd women. Don’t you ” 

“But that is not being religious. Surely you must 
know that? Those are all mere empty works which 
are void without faith and love. And I have no love 
for any of them. I hate the lot. I do these things only 
from a sense of duty, and to please mother and Angela.” 

“Then all the more credit due to you,” he said 
gravely. “When people take up work which is thor- 
oughly distasteful to them, and go through with it 
bravely and honestly, they are on the right track for 
heaven, to my thinking.” 

“ I don’t know,” I said, sighing. “ I believe I do it in 
[ 192 ] 


ffAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

the hope of securing a tiny corner for myself in the 
next world, and because I am really sorry for poor 
people.” 

“ And they adore you.” 

How comforting he was. I did not stop to inquire 
how he had discovered such a startling and comfortable 
fact — if it were a fact. I just stroked myself down 
gently. How lovely it was to know that somebody 
adored me. I always feel at my best with Mr. Inder- 
wick. 

We had reached the farmyard. The horse and trap 
stood waiting, and Miss Swiftly ogled at us from the 
doorway. I gave her the cup and bottle, and, turning 
to Mr. Inderwick, held out my hand. 

“ Good-by,” I said a little stiffly. I fancied I saw 
four ears on Miss Swiftly’s head instead of two, and 
they all pointed ourway as a setter points at his quarry. 

But he took no notice of it. My palm embraced the 
air while he busied himself with the rug. 

“ Now will you get in. Miss Hazel ? ” he said, offering 
me his hand as cool as a cucumber. “Just stand up a 
moment while I tuck the rug round you; that’s it. 
Good-day, Miss Swiftly. Many thanks. My man shall 
bring back the trap this evening. You say you won’t 
be wanting it. Hope I shall be able to do you a similar 
kindness some day without the strained ankle thrown 
in. Good-day.” And we rattled across the cobbles of 
the yard and down the narrow lane, with its hedge of 
furze bushes, followed by Miss Swiftly’s starting eyes 
[ 193 ] 


13 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and extended ears, and the wide grin of a hulking 
stable-boy. 

What we said, and how we disagreed, and where we 
drove to must be reserved for another day, for I must 
go down to supper. The gong has gone twice, and I 
must meet mother and Angela sooner or later. I wish 
it could be later. There is bound to be a lecture. I 
slipped in and up the stairs without making a sound. 
Yet I know they are aware of my presence in the house, 
or why sound the gong twice ? Angela has never been 
late for a meal in her life. So I must take my courage 
in my hands and gird up my loins to withstand the on- 
slaught of the enemy. 

The drive was worth it all. 


[ 194 ] 


CHAPTER XV 


On the Repairing of a Lock and my Drive with Mr. 
Inderwick 

B ill BONNYMAN has just finished repairing 
the lock of the store-cupboard door. When 
the last screw was removed, and the lock was 
being gently shaken about in Bill’s large hand, I deftly 
slipped in between it and Angela. She did not hear 
the rattle of a tiny pebble on the floor, and if she did, 
it would be from Bill’s boot. 

“ What was it. Bill ? Why wouldn’t the key turn ? ” 
she asked with interest. 

“ A bit of dirt, miss. P’r’aps something out of your 
pocket which stuck in the little hole at the top end of 
the key.” 

“ I don’t have dirty pockets. Bill,” she said with dig- 
nity. “Besides, I don’t carry the key there. It is 
attached to the chatelaine at my waist.” 

“ Ah well, miss ! Keyholes often pick up a bit of dirt. 
It’s a habit they have,” and Bill prepared to go. 

“Couldn’t Bill have a glass of beer, Angela?” I 
whispered. 


[ 195 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


She looked at me in surprise. 

“ Mother never gives beer to any one.” 

“She does to the carpet-shakers in the spring and 
autumn cleanings.” 

“That is different. She is obliged to. It is the 
custom in Heatherland — sixpence a corner and a glass 
of beer each. But there is no occasion for Bill to have 
it; he is paid for his work.” 

“But he is so kind and nice,” I persisted. 

“ That is not sufficient reason for giving a man beer,” 
she said in her most final tones. 

I followed Bill to the back door and slipped two- 
pence into his hand. 

“That is for beer. Bill.” 

“Thank you kindly, miss, but I’m teetotal.” 

Once again Bill caused me to gasp. First he was in 
when as a plumber he should have been out, and now 
he was teetotal. I did not know there was a teetotal 
man in Heatherland. I watched him down the walk 
and into Sandy Lane. I felt fond of Bill. I owed my 
lovely drive to him. But for his sympathy yesterday I 
should have been miserable and felt bound to return to 
Angela and confess my crime ; his tacit acquiescence to 
keep quiet and say nothing encouraged me to brazen 
the whole thing out, and I was rewarded for my temer- 
ity. My day more than equalled expectations, espe- 
cially the evening part of it, and the drive with Mr. 
Inderwick. 

Of course the weather was exceptionally fine, and I 
[ 196 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


am sure there were more stars than usual in the sky. 
One great big one shot into the blue almost before the 
red and gold in the west had faded and died. Then 
another appeared. And then, as if by magic, the whole 
lot of them came upon the scene — big and little, fixed 
stars and planets — and they twinkled and winkled, and 
sparkled and glittered till the heavens seemed fairly 
alive with their glimmering eyes. They appeared, I 
thought, to be winking at us. Supposing Mrs. Oates 
were seated in one of them and Angela in another. I 
shuffled uneasily. There was still time to get down 
and go home alone. We had not got very far from 
Heatherland, though it was rapidly retreating behind 
us. This was what Mr. Inderwick called making a 
little detour. 

I summoned all my courage and duty and well- 
brought-upness and good moral training to my aid, 
and demanded to be set down immediately. 

Mr. Inderwick instantly became deeply interested 
in Dibbs’s movements behind us, and whistled to him 
loudly. 

“ He is all right,” I said. “ Will you put me down 
at once.^^ I did not argue before Miss Swiftly, but I 
have no intention of going a drive with you.” 

We covered quite another quarter of a mile before 
he replied — 

“ I am sorry you have changed your mind. You are 
a little wobbly. I thought in the fields you decided 
you would go.” 


[ 197 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ I never did,” I cried hotly. “ I had not the slightest 
intention of driving one yard with you.” 

“ Why are you here, then ? ” 

I could have shaken him. Of all the exasperating 
men in the world ! First he mastered me, then he called 
me wobbly. Such impertinence ! It was gross. 

“Mr. Inderwick,” I said, “you may think you are 
being funny. It does not strike me that way. I call 
your behavior ungentlemanly, ill-bred, and cruel. To 
kidnap a defenceless girl on the public highway is not 
a very creditable piece of work.” 

I glowered at him as I spoke, expecting him to pull 
the horse on to its haunches in his shame and sorrow, 
and I could hardly believe my own senses — either sight 
or hearing — when his lips twitched and he finally broke 
into such chuckling that his great shoulders heaved up 
and down like young earthquakes. 

That settled it. I was really angry. 

“Mr. Inderwick, if you have one particle of manly 
or gentlemanly feeling in you — and I am beginning 
to doubt if you have — may I appeal to it, once again, 
and request you to stop the horse and allow me to 
get down.” 

I hardly realized that we had passed West Kirby 
and were a good four miles from home, and that it 
nad was now quite dark but for the glimmering light of 
the stars. 

He pulled up the horse, and handed me down with- 
out speaking. 


[ 198 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Good-night,” I said freezingly as I turned on my 
heel and set off down the hard road at a good speed. 

“ Wait a bit,” he called after me. “ If you will allow 
me, I will keep just behind you in the trap. It is not 
safe for you to be on these lonely roads at this time 
of night.” 

I vouchsafed no answer. The thing was becoming 
farcical. The horse’s hoofs clinked, and the wheels 
rumbled slowly immediately in my rear. When I hur- 
ried, they hurried; when I slowed down, they slowed 
down. A match struck and a fragrant whiff of tobacco 
curled along the sharp air. A man could always find 
comfort in his pipe ; and there he was seated cosily and 
comfortably under the warm rug, while I was out in the 
cold, chill air. I felt exceedingly sorry for myself. Men 
were so selfish. And I had had no tea, and was dread- 
fully hungry and very tired, and I had still two more 
miles to walk. 

“ Have you nearly had enough. Miss Hazel ? ” 

The voice was quite gentle, though I fancied I could 
still detect a trace of amusement in it, and my back 
stiffened. 

“ Miss Hazel, I want to say something to you, and I 
can’t if you tear on like that. Won’t you stop a min- 
ute?” 

The voice was almost supplicating this time, and a 
stone in my boot was hurting me. 

“Well?” 

“ Oh, don’t say ‘ well ! ’ like that. You quite frighten 
[ 199 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


me. You sound like an iceberg, and I am so helpless 
with my lame foot. Just stop one minute. The horse 
is getting quite out of breath.” 

I was glad that the darkness covered up my smile. 
I stopped quite suddenly, and the horse almost walked 
over me. 

“ And now you are trying to commit suicide,” he re- 
marked plaintively. “I think women are a little un- 
reasonable, don’t you ? ” 

“ Unreasonable ! ” I flashed. 

“Yes. But I don’t say you are. I was only gener- 
alizing. This keen air is conducive to thought and 
philosophy.” 

“ May I ask if you called me back to listen to your 
prosings on women ? ” 

“That sounds a little unkind,” he said. “No, I 
wanted to tell you how sorry I am for being so ungen- 
tlemanly and ill-bred and — what was the other thing ? 
cruel, wasn’t it? — and for kidnapping you. I never 
meant to kidnap you, I assure you. And I am really 
sorry that my manner led you to think I had such an 
object in view. The fact is, I was so keen on taking 
you for a drive — ^you seem so fond of the fresh air and 
country and such things — that I forgot your feelings in 
the matter. And there is a jolly little place in West 
Kirby where you can get tea and hot muffins, and — 
well, I thought what a nice time we would have, the 
same as the other afternoon; and there are such a lot 
of stars, and the roads are so good, and — it’s quite 
[ 200 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


early. And this place is sort of Japanesy — all odd and 
pretty.” 

“And what about your ankle? I thought it hurt 
you, and you have no boot on.” 

“ Oh, I forgot that. But it doesn’t hurt much now, 
and I could easily have hobbled into the tea-room, and 
the muffins are so hot and buttery, and ” 

“ Don’t ! ” I groaned. “ I am absolutely ravenous.” 

“ Are you ? Poor child ! ” he said in the most beauti- 
fully sympathetic voice I ever heard. “I am sorry. 
But we should be back there in ten minutes if you got 
in the trap at once. It is quite early, and I promise to 
take you in by 6:30. I know Mrs. Wycherley is par- 
ticular, but she won’t mind your being with me, of 
course, when I have known you for fourteen years. I 
will take good care of you.” 

He was helping me in as he spoke, and my last frag- 
ment of indecision oozed out of my heels. He was so 
sensible and matter-of-fact and practical, that I won- 
dered how I could have been so fussy about such a 
trifle. I was tired, too, and very hungry. I did not like 
the sensation, I must admit, of having been conquered 
by this determined man. But there are moments in 
one’s life when one must show a fine spirit and give in. 
Only really broad-minded people give in; narrow, 
petty souls always remain obstinate, but they call it by 
another name — firmness. 

And Mr. Inderwick was not blatantly triumphant 
over his victory. I will give him credit for showing a 
[ 201 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


nice, humble feeling. He talked of every-day events in 
an every-day voice as we drove back to West Kirby, 
and he helped me to get down as respectfully as if I 
had been the Empress of all the Russias. 

The tea-room was all he had promised — odd and 
pretty and Japanesy. Quaint Oriental curtains were 
drawn across the windows, so Mrs. Oates and Angela 
could not peep in upon us from their respective stars. 

Stimulated by the tea, I soon forgot my qualms and 
became cheerful and talkative, while he relapsed into 
his customary attentive silence and prolonged, fixed 
staring. I don't think he is aware of this bad, dis- 
quieting habit. Some day when I know him better I 
must tell him of it. It is not good manners. 

I felt it was my duty, too, to point out to him that it 
had been rude and untrue to call me “ wobbly.” 

“Well, aren’t you?” he said, smiling. “I thought 
all girls were.” 

“ Your knowledge of girls has apparently been 
small,” I replied. “Girls have plenty of — of char- 
acter.” 

“ Oh, have they ? ” he said, looking surprised. 

“You do not amuse me,” I observed, glancing at the 
clock and springing to my feet at the same instant. 

“ Now don’t get fussy,” he said quietly. “ I prom- 
ised you should be in by half-past six, and you shall. 
You seem to be under the impression that not a 
single affair of the nation, either public or private, 
can be managed without your assistance, and it is 
[ 202 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


such a mistake on your part. You must have faith in 
people.” 

Then he called for the bill and limped slowly after 
me to the door, followed by the astonished eyes of the 
girl, who evidently thought the sight of a brown stock- 
inged foot at the end of a leather legging rather unusual. 

“ How is your ankle ? ” I inquired, as he stood on the 
cold pavement on one leg. 

“ Nicely, thank you. It doesn’t hurt much, but it is 
pretty swollen and very cold.” 

“ You should have gone straight home. I expect you 
will be laid up for weeks.” 

“ Probably, but I’ve risked it. I like being with you 
— somehow.” 

“Thanks. But I think the ‘somehow’ was a little 
unnecessary.” 

I could feel him smiling as he touched up the horse. 

“Tell me why you like being with me?” I asked, 
with that interest which a woman invariably displays 
in her own personality. I can only get mother and 
Angela to discuss me on rare occasions, and then in a 
way I do not always care about. 

“You are so vivid, so terrifically in earnest about 
everything; you take yourself so seriously.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“Well, for instance, you are so affected by the 
Parian jugs, and the little monotonous details which 
are bound to enter into most people’s lives. They 
chafe and fret you so. Don’t think I am not sympa- 
[203 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


thetic about them, I think the small worries of life are 
the hardest to bear, for there are so many of them. 
But I think you feel them more than you should. You 
are nervous and highly strung. And then haven’t you 
rather exaggerated to yourself the friendly interest 
which Miss Swiftly and possibly a few other villagers 
are evidently taking at the moment in us ? It pleases 
them — their hves are dull — and won’t harm you and 
me. 

I sat dumfounded. My tongue clicked in my dry 
mouth, but no sound came. So he was not blind or 
dense as I had imagined. He had known all the time 
my reason for not wishing to drive with him. He was 
aware that our names, his and mine, were being bandied 
together about the village, and he spoke as calmly of it 
as he would speak of the weather. 

“ How did you know ? ” I inquired at length, faintly. 
“ Did — did Miss Swiftly say anything ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” he said cheerfully. “ But I had not been 
in her kitchen two minutes before she told me you were 
down the farm fields at Piper’s Well. Within two more 
minutes she again gave me the same pleasing informa- 
tion. This was followed by your refusing to hear me, 
then to drive with me, and your general unsympa- 
thetic aggressiveness. Miss Swiftly’s vacuous smile as 
we drove away caused me to see daylight, and I soon 
found that two and two made four.” 

He allowed the horse to fall into a walk, and turned 
and looked at me searchingly. 

[ 204 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


My cheeks burned, and I blessed the night for 
having fallen and the moon for staying in another 
part of the world. 

“ I thought you were blind and absent-minded, and 
did not see things,” I presently murmured nervously. 

“I am not blind or absent-minded where you are 
concerned,” he said with great decision. “You have 
shaken me up and sharpened my faculties in an aston- 
ishing way.” 

“And you are pretty heavy and solid and old to 
shake up,” I said flippantly and still more nervously. 
“You remind me of an Early Victorian feather-bed 
which has become lumpy.” 

“ I am not old,” he replied, a little irritably. “ How 
you carp on one’s age!” and he flicked at the horse 
with his whip, causing it to break into a gallop. 

“Do I?” I said in surprise, becoming calmer. “I 
am sorry. Have I ever mentioned it before ? ” 

“Frequently,” he answered. 

“That is not true. But, you see, you seemed quite 
old to me when I was a little girl, and naturally it strikes 
me you are still older now.” 

“ All people who are grown up appear old to children. 
They rarely distinguish between twenty-five and fifty- 
five. As a matter of fact, when you were seven I was 
twenty-one — a mere slip of a youth in my second year 
at the ’Varsity.” 

“You were never a slip,” I replied firmly. “You 
were big and grave and slow, and you seemed like 
forty at the very least, even in those days.” 

[205 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Well, I wasn’t,” he snapped still more irritably. 
“Try and disabuse your mind of that misconception. 
I am still five years short of forty. Perhaps I appear 
seventy to you to-night ? ” 

“ No, I should say not more than seven — if that.” 

He gave a grunt, and then we both laughed. 

“If you knew my reason for not caring to drive 
with you,” I said bravely, “ don’t you think you were a 
bit of a bully?” 

“No,” he replied. “To consider such infernal rot 
betokens a weakness of character.” 

“Your language is anything but weak,” I com- 
mented severely. 

“ I beg your pardon, but I feel strongly about it. If 
one is always pandering to the world’s opinion you may 
as well shut up shop, or become a drivelling nincom- 
poop. I don’t mean to grovel at its feet. I intend to 
enjoy life.” 

“I see. And does enjoying life mean compelling 
people to go drives with you ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

I had nothing to say to that, and a silence fell upon us. 

As we swung down the lane to our gate he said — 

“Is your man anywhere about, I wonder, to hold 
the horse ? ” 

“Why?” I asked. 

“ I want to go in with you for a minute to explain to 
Mrs. Wycherley that you have been good enough to 
go for a drive with me.” 


[ 206 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Go in?” 

“Yes. Why not? It seems only fair to you and 
Mrs. Wycherley.” 

“ But you can’t. You mustn’t on any account.” 

“ Why not ? ” he asked wonderingly. 

“ Oh, I couldn’t think of it. It’s impossible. They 
would be flabbergasted. And Angela may have been 
washing her head and be drying it in the dining-room. 
She often does in winter to save a fire in her bedroom.” 

“ And do you do the same ? ” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“Well, I would call if I could just fix on the night. 
I would like to see your hair down, it is so dark and 
fluffy.” . 

“ Mr. Inderwick, I must say ‘ Good-night.’ ” 

“Wait a minute. I don’t know how I am to fix it 
up.” 

“ Fix what up ? ” 

“ Why, I wanted to ask Mrs. Wycherley if you might 
drive with me to the meet next week, and perhaps Miss 
Angela could come too.” 

I sat down down on the step and fairly heaved with 
surprise. 

“You are an astonishing person, Mr. Inderwick. 
Mother would no more dream of allowing it than she 
would permit us to dress up in men’s clothes and go 
round Heatherland with a.barrel-organ.” 

“Wouldn’t she — not if I came in with you and 
asked her ? ” 


[ 207 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Certainly not. She would think you raving mad.’* 

He whistled for a moment reflectively. 

“ Well, would she if I asked her to come too ? You 
and Miss Angela perhaps wouldn’t mind sitting at the 
back one way, and ” 

“And the other?” 

“Oh, the other! Well, it would be a little diflicult 
to arrange. Can Miss Angela drive ? ” 

“No, she can’t; and in my wildest moment of de- 
rangement I cannot fancy mother at a meet.” 

“ I’m sorry. When can you come to tea again ? ” 

“Never.” 

“ Haven’t they forgiven you about the Parian jugs ? ” 

“No.” 

“That’s a nuisance. It looks as though I can’t fix 
it up any way, and I should like to see you again before 
I go away.” 

“ Are you going away ? ” 

I tried and believe I kept the consternation out of 
my voice, but I went all sort of blank inside. 

“ Yes, I’m going for a fortnight at Christmas.” 

“ How jolly ! ” I ejaculated. 

“ Do you think so ? I would much prefer staying at 
Heatherland. I regard it as an unmitigated nuisance. 
Seven children in the house — my brother’s — and the 
entire place packed with Christmas-trees, dolls, wooden 
horses, trains, soldiers, duclis, and sticky fingers. The 
children themselves horribly over-fed and with a rapa- 
cious desire and hankering after ‘ presents from uncle,’ 
and the parents apologetic and pulpy.” 

[ 208 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I laughed. 

“ Well, good-night, you have my sympathy.” 

“ Good-night; I’m sorry you won’t let me come in.” 

He picked up the reins and watched me as I ran up 
the steps to the gate. After I had closed it, I popped 
my head over and whispered in a low voice — 

“You have never returned mother’s and Angela’s 
call, and they think it frightfully ill-mannered of 
you.” 

Then I slipped noiselessly across the lawn, into the 
house, and up to my room. 

What a nice man he was, I reflected, as I brushed 
my hair. So jolly and friendly and brotherly, and not 
a scrap of nonsense about him. And showed such 
thoroughly nice feeling to want to come in and explain 
matters to mother. Very few men would have sug- 
gested such a step. I felt I had found a real friend at 
last. What a pity it was because a silly world talked 
that we could have no more good times together. And 
he was going away, too, and Heatherland would be 
again flat and dull. I wished Aunt Menelophe would 
invite me to spend Christmas with her. But mother 
wouldn’t permit it even if such an invitation came. We 
must always spend Christmas together. It is the season 
of the year when I feel more than usually fond of 
Angela. 

I went down to supper, and mother shook her head 
at me very gravely as I took my place at the table. 
Angela cast a pale-blue eye on me, and then ignored 
me as completely as she does beggar-women. She does 
14 [ 209 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


not approve of beggar-women ; she says they could all 
get charing if they tried. 

Toward the end of the meal she addressed me at 
some length. The Welsh-rabbit may have lubricated 
her throat. She spoke of selfishness and callousness, 
and disobedience and shirking my duty, and all sorts 
of sins mentioned in Jeremy Taylor. I listened to her 
without replying. Her conversation always maintains 
the same high level of elocutionary ability, but it lacks 
originality. Mother’s is much more interesting, and I 
pay her the most attention. 

After mother had read prayers and about Daniel in 
the den of lions, I thought I would be a Daniel too. 
So, taking my courage in my hands, I told them of 
my drive with Mr. Inderwick and our tea at West 
Kirby. 

Figuratively speaking, Angela’s arms and legs lay in 
different parts of the room, as limbs have a way of doing 
after the explosion of bombshells; and mother’s cap 
leaped farther to the side of her head. 

I sat down gently on the edge of a chair and awaited 
events. 

Mother was the first to pull herself together. She 
folded her hands, and I rose and respectfully put her 
cap straight. It was unseemly that mother should be 
about to speak as a parent to an erring child, wearing 
such a rakish aspect. I appreciate the fitness of things. 

Angela extinguished the candle she had lit prepara- 
tory to going to bed, and took up her knitting. 

[ 210 ] 


[HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

I felt as though it were Act I., Scene 2. Wilful 
daughter. Dutiful daughter. Heavy parent. I won- 
dered idly what Act II. and III. would reveal. 

The heavy parent was much briefer and more sym- 
pathetic than I anticipated. Mother is often most 
delightfully unexpected. Did she remember she her- 
self had once been young? And did she remember 
hiding in an undignified position behind a coal cart 
with father to escape the stern paternal eye of Grand- 
father Ridgewood ? 

I ventured respectfully to recall this little situation 
to her, and she said, after a momentary embarrass- 
ment, that it had been ill-judged of father to repeat 
such a foolish story. 

“ Besides, Hazel,” she added, “ it is the duty of chil- 
dren to forget those things which parents in occasional 
moments of expansion may reveal to them. Children 
should ever be blind to the faults of their parents and 
never remember anything they may tell them.” 

“ If you really mean that,” I said, laughing, “ I 
shall go for another drive with Mr. Inderwick to- 
morrow.” 

“ Oh, Hazel, Hazel ! ” said mother with a deep sigh. 
“ What a trial you are to your sister and me ! All our 
efforts to make you a refined, well-bred woman seem 
to be unavailing. You confess to having stood at the 
gate talking to Mr. Inderwick for at least ten minutes. 
Fancy a child of mine behaving like a common kitchen- 
maid! If Mr. Inderwick desires to see you he must 
[ 211 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


come — well, he must come here. You are no longer a 
little girl, as he evidently imagines.” 

“He doesn’t,” I said, feeling annoyed. “And he 
wanted to come in, but I wouldn’t let him.” 

“ Why not ? ” they cried together. 

“Oh, I said it wouldn’t be convenient, as probably 
you had both been washing your heads and would be 
drying them in the dining-room.” 

The last I saw of mother and Angela they were 
sitting, with their jaws dropped, staring into the fire. 


1212] 


CHAPTER XVI 


I am a Little Poorlyy and Mr. Inderwich Calls 

A STORM is raging over Heatherland. The wind 
is sweeping and tearing round the house, and 
booming away in the tree-tops, and wailing 
down the chimneys, and sobbing under the doors. 
Great hailstones keep dashing against my window and 
dancing about on the garden walks like things de- 
mented. The monkey trees are waving their long 
arms about with Ophelian gestures, and the chestnuts 
near the gate groan and sway as if in mortal agony. 

I love a storm — when I am securely tucked away in 
a house. I like to watch our gentle, placid little Dee 
churning and lashing itself up into a miniature sea, and 
the great inky clouds rushing across the leaden sky. 
To stand close to the window and laugh at the savage 
hail straining to get at you, and watch the sleet driving 
in a blinding sheet across the fields, how exhilarating it 
is! And to lie warm and snug in bed on wild winter 
nights and listen — ^listen to all that is going on outside 
— the rain and wind, and snow and sleet — and to 
snuggle the eiderdown more closely round you and 
know that none of them can get at you, how com- 
forting! 


[*131 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Heroines in introspective novels appear to have such 
curious sensations with regard to storms, and do such 
unexpected things. They hang out of windows, or go 
for long walks on cliffs, and feel like wild birds, and 
want to be carried away by the tempest and lose them- 
selves in the whirling atmosphere. I am so glad such 
feelings do not overtake me; they must be extremely 
uncomfortable. I enjoy a storm as much as any one 
— in reason ; but I never feel like a wild bird or want to 
do anything rash. I am quite content to be in my room 
with a nice bright fire. Yes, I have a fire — the first 
since I had measles, when I was fifteen. I have worked 
very hard for it. When I woke I was seized with an 
earnest longing to spend the day in my room and have 
a fire. For some time I cudgelled my brains as how to 
achieve it. Angela would never consent on account of 
the extra work for Rose. “ Have a sore throat ” ; the 
voice seemed to come from the neighborhood of the 
washstand, and I sat up in bed and stared. What a 
brilliant idea ! 

Soon I was hastening down the passage in my 
dressing-gown and slippers to mother’s room. She was 
not up, and I could just see the end of her nose peeping 
forth from her mountainous feather-bed. When she 
gets into bed she looks as though she were climbing 
up the side of a house. 

“Mother,” I said, “may I have breakfast in bed 
to-day ? I am a little bit poorly — my throat ” 

She started up and surveyed me anxiously from 

[ 214 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


beneath her red damask canopy. My conscience 
gave a nasty undesirable twinge. 

“Oh, I’m not very bad,” I said hastily. “Would 
you like to look down my throat ? ” 

This was a safe invitation. Mother can’t look down 
throats properly, she gets the spoon all mixed up with 
your tongue. 

“ Go back to bed at once,” she said by way of reply. 
“ You’ll catch your death of cold ; it is a bitter morning, 
and there is scarlet fever in the village. I will come to 
you later.” 

I stole guiltily back and huddled under the clothes. 
I could hear her calling Angela, and telling Rose to 
bring up a teaspoon from the pantry, I felt wretched, 
and wondered what I should do. Could I swallow 
some pink tooth powder? I put such an unworthy 
thought from me. Mother and Angela arrived with 
the spoon together. 

“ Now hold your tongue well down,” said Angela. 

“ I would rather mother looked,” I wailed fractiously. 
They exchanged glances. 

“She looks flushed,” said mother; “give the spoon 
to me.” 

She hurt a good deal, and made me choke violently. 

“ Of course, if you rear your tongue up in that way. 
Hazel, it is quite impossible for me to see,” said mother 
at length, a little irritably. 

I was trying not to laugh, and buried my head under 
the clothes. When I felt it was safe to emerge I whis- 
[ 215 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


pered faintly I was not very bad and would get up. 
There was a heroism in my voice which even touched 
Angela. 

“No,” she said, “lie still, and Rose shall bring up 
your breakfast and light the fire.” She began to re- 
move the pink shavings from the fireplace as she spoke. 

My conscience gave another mighty leap. How I 
wished I had kept to the straight, narrow path! But 
it was too late. Rose was already appearing with the 
breakfast-tray. 

“I will get up after a while and sit in my room, 
Angela,” I volunteered amiably. 

“ Not until after dinner; the room will be thoroughly 
warm by then,” she replied decisively, as she went out 
and closed the door. 

I did not in the least enjoy my breakfast: cold 
draughts whistled round my back, and crumbs got 
down the bed, and the fire smoked — the chimney was 
damp. I was not allowed a book, my arms must not 
be exposed. Altogether I spent a wretched, dull morn- 
ing. I counted the moments, when I might get up. 
Mother paid me three visits, and each time she inquired 
how I felt. On the first occasion she brought me hot 
black-currant vinegar, which was very soothing; on 
the second, a box of jujubes; and on the third, her 
second-best, woolly, white shawl. She was very kind 
and sympathetic, and feeling absolutely abject, I could 
only squeeze her hand. 

As soon as I had swallowed my dinner, which was 
[ 216 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


‘‘light diet for an invalid” (boiled mutton), I leaped 
out of bed, and was dressed and sitting in mother’s 
shawl before a lovely fire as Angela came into the 
room. She inquired if I did not think it a little rash, 
and I replied that I was sure I should take no harm 
from it, and must harden myself preparatory to leaving 
the room on the morrow. She said, “ Do you think you 
will be well enough to go down to-morrow ^ ” and I an- 
swered I thought I should. And I think I shall, though 
I have enjoyed this afternoon tremendously, and feel 
quite comfortable about my deceit. The room is 
lovely and warm and comfy now. I have stuffed my 
dressing-gown along the bottom of the door where the 
carpet lifts with the wind, and I have piled up the fire 
till it glows red and hot, and, with my chair between the 
fireplace and window, I can sit with my feet toasting on 
the fender, and my eyes on the whirling elements 
outside. 

I can see Sammy sheltering in the doorway of the 
potting-shed preparatory to making a dash across the 
white, frozen lawn. It is too cold for the hail to melt, 
and it lies in hard lumps. He has a sack pinned round 
his shoulders, and his beard straggles in thin wisps on 
his chest. He looks very miserable and cold and 
pinched. Poor old Sammy ! I must wave to him. 

>(:** ****** 


[ 217 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I opened the window two inches, and told Sammy 
to go to the kitchen and have some tea with Rose and 
Elizabeth. They have theirs early, sensible women; 
we have to wait for ours till five. And they have theirs 
on a nice, little, round wooden table in front of the fire 
and we have ours laid at the end of the big table in the 
middle of the dining-room, right away from the fire. 
When I have a house of my own I shall do things so dif- 
ferently. I shall have a fire in the drawing-room every 
day. It won’t look a bit like a drawing-room; every 
chair will be easy, and there will be nothing useless. I 
shall go to it the minute after meals, and so escape the 
lingering odor of cabbage and potatoes, and the bissell- 
ing of the crumbs from off the carpet. Bissells are such 
exasperating things. They trundle across the carpet 
with a squeak, dislodge you from your chair because 
your feet are resting on a few square inches of floor- 
covering which may contain crumbs, dance in and out 
of the furniture like Sir Roger de Coverley, and finally 
hound you out of the room. I wonder how many times 
I have escaped from their clutches to the garden or my 
own bedroom ? And mother and Angela love bissells ! 

Now I am going to have a good read. I have not 
much choice, as my bookshelf is filled mainly with 
religious works presented by mother and Angela to me 
on my different birthdays. They have always had 
this unfortunate taste in literature. On my sixth birth- 
day Angela started me with “Morning Bells” and 
“ Evening Thoughts.” It was chilly work on a winter’s 
[ 218 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


night spelling out the “Evening Thoughts” by the 
light of a solitary candle, Angela keeping me well in 
view for fear I might skip a portion. The book was 
divided up into three hundred and sixty-five thoughts, 
and some of them were drearier than others; my own 
by contrast were the reflections of a master-mind. 

At ten years of age I received “Gold Dust,” the 
binding of which was pretty and looked well in the 
bookcase. Then I was passed on by degrees to Keble’s 
“Christian Year,” “Daily Thoughts for the Young” 
(these were thoughts for morning as well as evening), 
“Being and Doing,” “Advice to Young Christians,” 
and Jeremy Taylor’s “Holy Living and Holy Dying.” 
Jeremy I like the best of the lot ; he is a dear. 

In addition to these religious volumes I have a few 
secular ones. First of all, and prime favorite with me 
as a child and even grown up, is “Alice in Wonder- 
land.” Alice has ever been my best friend. When 
Angela snubbed me Alice comforted me. She sat with 
me in the sunny garden and suggested mad tea-parties, 
with Sammy as the hatter, which honor he always po- 
litely declined. She went to the shore with me, and 
Dibbs and I “ set to partners ” on the yellow sands and 
sang — 

“Will you, won’t you? 

Will you, won’t you ? 

Won’t you join the dance?” 

She was my companion in the fields and on the com- 
mons while Dibbs and I searched for the white rabbit. 

[ 219 ] 


HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 


She tucked herself into bed with me at night, and 
peeped at me in alluring fashion in the early morning. 
Where I went, she went, never failing to bring me 
pleasure and absorbing interest; and here’s to your 
health and long life, dear Alice — ^in black-currant vine- 
gar — and may you bring much simple happiness to 
millions of children now and in the ages to come ! 

Next to Alice, I have held steadfast in my regard 
“Jane Eyre,” “The Cloister and the Hearth,” and 
“The Moonstone-,” three enchanting books. When 
mother and Angela are present I say I like Scott and 
Lytton and Thackeray — they are standard authors, 
and I am bound to like them — and privately I adore 
“ The Newcomes.” They think it shows an uneducated 
taste to prefer Wilkie Collins to Lytton. Angela is 
frequently suggesting I shall read something to im- 
prove my mind — Carlyle, Ruskin, Schiller, Goethe. 
Now, if there is anything I detest it is an improving-to- 
your-mind book. I don’t think on the face of the earth 
there is anything more dreary. I tried a bit of Schiller 
once on a Sunday afternoon, a translation; I don’t 
know a word of German. I read a page, and felt I was 
in a fog. I turned back and read it over again; this 
time I was sure I wasn’t right. I tried it a third time, 
and then I went for “ A Woman in White.” I am never 
going to read dry books for the sake of saying I have 
read them. I am not clever or learned, and don’t want 
to be. You have so much more fun in life if you are 
not expected to be clever. 


[ 220 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


To fill up the blank spaces in my bookcase I have 
placed Tapper’s “ Proverbial Philosophy,” Locke “ On 
the Understanding,” and Burton’s “Anatomy of Mel- 
ancholy.” I found them in the cellar. Tapper has a 
nice back — blue with little gold stars. Then I have 
several poets. I am going to whisper something now — 
I am not devoted to Shakespeare. Was there ever a 
braver or more truthful girl.^^ I like Tennyson and 
Shelley and Byron a thousand times better. Maud, 
with her head running over with curls, and the poor 
man lying on that Breton shore talking to little shells 
after he had killed her brother; oh, how dreadful it 
was! Great tears come into my eyes. If I had been 
Maud I should have rushed after him and married him 
as fast as I could. Women are so superior and uppish 
in poetry. 

Two poets I have stuck together at the back of the 
shelf in a dark corner — Chaucer and Burns. Men 
should not be allowed to write in Early English and 
Scotch: I would sooner read Latin. 

Why don’t I flourish like a green bay tree ? On two 
occasions within the last fortnight I have been des- 
perately deceitful — the store-cupboard key and my 
sore throat! And I haven’t flourished and don’t flourish. 
Judgment descends upon and crushes me as remorse- 
[ 221 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


lessly as a veritable Juggernaut. According to the 
promise set forth in the Bible, I should at the moment 
be having a real good time in the dining-room with Mr. 
Inderwick! for he is here, and is drinking tea with my 
family; instead of which I am sitting in a dull, cold, 
and depressing bedroom, and no more resemble a green 
bay tree than a shrivelled, brown nettle does an arum 
lily. 

It is too exasperating. What Mr. Inderwick can be 
thinking of to go paying calls in first-class typhoons 
beats my feeble comprehension. He may enjoy slates 
and chimney-pots whizzing through the air, but it 
seems a dangerous amusement. And he still limps. 
When the front gate banged, and I saw a man being 
blown up the walk, I thought, at first, it was Sammy. 
It was getting dark, and I watched him idly from the 
window. As he approached the house, however, and 
the rugged figure and big shoulders loomed more 
clearly out of the gloom there was no mistaking it — it 
was Mr. Inderwick, with his hat jammed firmly on to 
his head, and his body enveloped in a huge, rough 
overcoat. He did not see me, and in a trice I had 
kicked off my slippers, tiptoed down the passage, and, 
craning my neck over the banisters, was just in time to 
hear him inquire if Mrs. Wycherley were at home, see 
him shake himself like. a Newfoundland dog, and follow 
Rose into the dining-room. And of course that pert 
Rose looked up and caught me peeping — her eyes are 
all over the place — and when she brought up my tea 
[ 222 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

a few minutes ago she observed cheerfully it was a pity 
I was so poorly, as Mr. Inderwick had just asked for 
me. I told her to shut the door and bring me up some 
more coal. 

Rose is somewhat familiar at times; she is the late 
Crabby’s cowman’s daughter, and appears to think it 
her duty to discuss old Crabby’s nephew, and I don’t. 

It was quite unnecessary, too, for Angela to send 
me up another box of jujubes and more currant vinegar. 
Her attentions are oppressive, especially as I told her 
I was much better. 

Oh, dear, what a wretched girl I am ! Such an ex- 
traordinarily unattractive day for a man to select to 
pay calls, and dangerous. A flying chimney-pot might 
have struck him on the head, or a tree snapped and 
knocked him down. 

I wonder if Angela’s eyes would fall out of her head 
if I donned Aunt Menelophe’s tea-gown, floated into 
the dining-room with a society woman’s languid, 
graceful movements, and, dropping on to a couch, mo- 
tioned Mr. Inderwick to my side. Would she ever 
survive it ? I wish I had the courage to do it. A brave 
girl would; a courageous girl wouldn’t think twice 
about it; a girl with plenty of backbone would be 
there by now. It would be a natural and everyday 
occurrence for her to be robed in an elegant tea-gown 
at five o’clock in the afternoon, and to descend from 
her rose-tinted boudoir to take tea with her family. 
I will be a girl with a backbone, I will do it! 

[ 223 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I have flung Jeremy Taylor into a corner — he has 
been sort of winking at me all the afternoon — and the 
jujubes after him, nasty, sticky abominations! 


[ 224 ] 


CHAPTER XVII 


I Unfortunately Knock off a Piece of Angela's Hair, 
and She is Extremely Annoyed 

T hat was yesterday. It was yesterday I de- 
scended from my rose-tinted boudoir and in 
trailing, silken garments floated into the dining- 
room as bright and radiant as a green bay tree, which 
was my due ; and to-day I am picking onions, and feel 
like a blighted weeping willow. To say that I gave 
them a shock would be using the mildest and most 
restrained of language. Even Dibbs sat up on his 
hind legs and wailed, in the same way that emotional 
people weep when they see a beautiful picture or hear 
divine music. Dibbs is peculiarly sensitive. Angela 
almost sat up on her hind legs, only Mr. Inderwick’s 
presence restrained her. I never realized before that 
one’s eyes could be so prominent unless suffering from 
heart disease. Mother put two shrimps into her 
second cup of tea and several lumps of sugar on to her 
plate. Mr. Inderwick was the only controlled member 
of the party. He drew up an armchair to the fire for 
me, and, thanking him gracefully, I leaned back 
15 [ 225 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


against the one hard cushion and green wool anti- 
macassar, and gave a little sigh. 

I did not give them time to speak, it would have 
been fatal. My backbone was of steel, but it was 
vulnerable ; they mustn’t get one home. I told mother 
I would have one cup of tea, as she was so pressing. I 
thanked Angela for the jujubes, which had relieved 
me considerably. I inquired sympathetically after 
Mr. Inderwick’s ankle, and I gathered Dibbs, who was 
dirty, on to my knee, with a fine disregard for the 
delicate and priceless — to me — texture of my gown. 
I was accustomed to tea-gowns billowing round me 
like lemon sponge. It was annoying that Dibbs should 
sniff at the lemon sponge as though he had not met it 
before, obliging me to restrain him with gentle though 
forceful hand, but perhaps it was not observed. 

It was a strain, too, to one’s mental faculties keeping 
an eye upon Angela. She was gathering together her 
resources ; three times she drew breath, and three times, 
with unerring skill, I parried that breath. I took the 
sentences out of her mouth, leaving her gaping. I 
chattered, I talked, I laughed, I scintillated; my con- 
versation would have rivalled Horace Walpole’s. Mr. 
Inderwick, without an invitation, drew his chair nearer 
to mine, and his staring was more protracted than 
usual. Mother, after ringing the bell for Rose to re- 
move the tea things, took up her knitting, as is her 
customary habit, but did not knit. The four needles 
lay inert on her lap ; her lips were parted, and her eyes 
[ 226 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


rested upon my face as though it were strange to her. 
Only Angela remained at the table, fixed, immovable, 
awaiting her opportunity. I did not see her with my 
eyes — I was talking to Mr. Inderwick — but her presence 
filled the entire room — that waiting, ominous, silent 
figure. It oppressed me, but I rattled on. It seemed 
to suffocate me, and my voice faltered ; but still I strug- 
gled gamely, and then Mr. Inderwick rose to go. I was 
saved. My gratitude to him was unbounded. I smiled 
up at him, and insisted upon going to the door. A 
breath of fresh air would do me good, I said, and swept 
out into the hall before him. He closed the dining-room 
door behind him, probably fearing the draughts for 
mother, and was a long time in putting on his coat. I 
felt that Rose was peeping again, and began to feel 
nervous. 

“ Is your ankle quite well ? ” I asked jerkily, forget- 
ing that I had already put this question to him twice. 

His answer was quite beside the mark — 

“ When will you come for another drive ? ” 

“Never,** I replied quickly, beginning to open the 
hall door. 

He closed it again quietly. 

“I am not going yet, I have lost my gloves. Why 
won*t you come ? ** 
i can t. 

“ Were they angry with you ? I wanted to come the 
following day, but the doctor wouldn*t allow it.** 

“ You are not looking for your gloves,** I observed. 

[ 227 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Never mind them.” He spoke impatiently. “ Were 
they angry with you ? ” 

“A little.” 

“ I am sorry,” he said, and his face went quite gentle 
and soft. 

“Oh, I didn’t mind,” I remarked hurriedly. I was 
convinced Rose was peeping, and he was looking at me 
in a way that made me wish he wouldn’t. 

“What were your gloves like, and where did you 
put them?” I inquired brilliantly, again opening the 
door. 

This time he closed it without speaking, and stood 
as though lost in thought. I was sure the dining-room 
door opened an inch, and I felt desperate. 

“Mr. Inderwick, are you going to take up your 
abode at Shady Oak ? It is a little cold here, and my 
gown is thin.” 

“I wish I could.” 

I was unprepared for such an answer, and he spoke 
with such earnestness that my cheeks went hot and my 
heart jumped. Supposing they had heard him. I 
made another hurried movement toward the door, but 
he forestalled me. 

“I never saw any one so anxious to get rid of a 
guest. Are you usually as rude to your friends ? ” 

“ I have a cold,” I replied lamely. 

“ Is that why you wear a thin silk gown ? ” 

“ It is lined and quite warm.” 

“ It is very pretty.” 


[ 228 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Aunt Menelophe gave it to me.” 

“ She’s first-class taste. You look splendid in it.” 

I sat down limply. I had distinctly heard a sup- 
pressed sound from the neighborhood of the kitchen. 

“Mr. Inderwick, I don’t wish to appear impolite, 
but if you are staying will you return with me to the 
dining-room ? It really is cold out here.” 

He smiled and shook hands. 

“Your hand is very warm,” he said calmly. “I 
don’t think you are cold really, but I am going,” 

“ Have you found your gloves ? ” 

“ I didn’t bring any now I come to think of it. Shall 
you be at church on Christmas morning ? ” 

“ I thought you were going away ? ” 

“No, I have changed my mind; there are difficulties 
in the way — the farm ” 

“I see.” 

“Besides, I would like to help you with the church 
decorations if I may ? ” 

“ Help me with the decorations ? ” This man would 
never cease to astonish me. 

“Yes, Mrs. Oates told me you had undertaken the 
font.” 

“It is very kind of Mrs. Oates, but she is not very 
exact. I merely said when she called to solicit our 
annual contribution of holly and evergreens that I 
might possibly go one day.” 

“Which day do you think it will be?” he asked 
imperturbably. 


[ 229 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“It depends on the mince-pies/’ 

“ I don’t wish to appear curious, but I should be glad 
if you will explain the connection ? ” 

He put his foot inside the door to prevent my clos- 
ing it. 

“ Are you under the impression that I am a prisoner 
at the bar and you the counsel for cross-examination, 
Mr. Inderwick? If so, I will fetch a shawl.” I spoke 
with some asperity, and pushed the door against his 
boot. 

“One moment, please. Miss Hazel, then I will go. 
About the mince-pies. Won’t you explain.? Do you 
take them to the church to refresh you .? ” 

I laughed in spite of myself. His persistence made 
me feel weak. 

“I don’t know why I gratify your curiosity, but 
Christmas week is a busy time with us. One day we 
make scores of mince-pies. Angela makes the pastry, 
and I butter the tins and fill, and put on the lids and 
cross them with a skewer ” 

“ Cross them with a skewer ? ” 

“Don’t interrupt,” I said. “The following day we 
distribute these mince-pies among the undeserving 
villagers. It takes us hours — Heatherland straggles, 
and we walk for miles.” 

“ I could help you with that.” 

I disregarded the interruption. 

“Another day we decorate the church, that also 
takes us hours; there are the wreaths and texts, and 
[ 230 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


gossip and tea in the vestry. Christmas Day falls on 
a Thursday this year ” 

“So that probably will mean mince-pies Monday, 
distribution to undeserving villagers Tuesday, church 
decorations Wednesday. I will be there on Wednes- 
day, December 24th, and will cut you all your holly 
ready for the wreaths, if you will allow me ? ” 

“It is prickly work. Good-night, Mr. Inderwick,” 
I said. 

“Good-night; it could not be more prickly than a 
young lady I know. Don’t forget Wednesday,” said 
he, as he went away into the darkness. 

I smiled to myself, and, much refreshed and stimu- 
lated, returned to the den of lions. At any rate, I had 
one nice friend in the world. 

She shan’t snub me, she shan’t dictate to me, she 
shan’t sit on me,” I said to myself as I opened the door. 

Angela was hemming a table-cloth and mother 
was knitting. Jauntily I walked down the room — my 
train gave me courage — and seated myself on the arm 
of mother’s chair. She did not look up. I spoke ca- 
ressingly to Dibbs, and he merely replied with a snore. 
I glanced at Angela, and debated as to whether she 
were human or a stone image. I attempted to whistle 
cheerfully, and my whistle gave out. I swung my foot 
backward and forward, and mother requested me to 
be still. At the end of five minutes I rose. 

“ I think I will return to my room,” I observed care- 
lessly. 


[ 231 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Your fire has been extinguished and the windows 
thrown open for ventilation; the night air might be 
injurious to your health.” 

The sound came from the neighborhood of Angela’s 
larynx, but it was unhke a voice. It was unlike any- 
thing I had ever heard. 

I sat down again and watched her hem. I felt unable 
to do anything — that voice had bereft me of speech. The 
needle clicldng against her silver thimble so evenly and 
smoothly held me fascinated. Her cotton never knotted 
as does mine; she never missed a stitch. Rapidly her 
white fingers worked their way along the linen with such 
regularity, such monotony, that I felt I should shriek. 
If only she would prick one of them, or break her needle ! 
If only she would speak, say something, lecture me, 
scold me — anything but that silent and remorseless 
hemming! She neared the end, the last stitch was 
taken, the thread was broken off. Deliberately she 
folded her work, deliberately she raised her eyes, slowly 
and deliberately she allowed those cold blue orbs to 
rest upon me. My time was come. 

“ I have something to say to you, Hazel.” 

“Well?” 

“ Were you really poorly this morning ? ” 

“No.” 

“ No sore throat ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Anything the matter with you ? ” 

“No.” 


[ 232 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Your illness was an entire fabrication?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you hear that, mother?” Mother shuffled. 
“ Do you hear, mother ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Dear mother sounded unhappy. 

Angela took out another piece of work from her 
basket and resumed her sewing. I noticed it was a 
baby’s pink head-flannel, and it seemed an anachronism. 

“ Is that all ? ” I asked breathlessly. 

“That is all. It may appear strange to you, but I 
have no further desire to converse with a liar — a de- 
ceitful liar — with one who decks herself out after the 
manner of strange women, and who with men is bold 
and forward.” 

Was it a kindly, sympathetic Providence who 
steadied my arm and enabled me to aim that hard 
cushion unerringly at the head of my sister and — 
dislodge a piece of her dead hair ? 

In the flrst flush of victory a rare, strange feeling of 
satisfaction and elation crept through my veins. I felt 
as a sportsman must feel. I was the sportsman, Angela 
a partridge; and I had hit her, and for the moment I 
loved her as a victor can afford to love a vanquished foe. 

But when I caught sight of the hair lying like a pale, 
dead snake upon the carpet my teeth chattered and 
the strength went out of my body. I had unwittingly 
laid bare my sister’s one little feminine weakness, her 
one little vanity, her one weak human spot. For long 
[ 233 ] 


Hazel of heatherland 


I had guessed that all those neat, shining coils upon her 
head were not grown there. I had observed that those 
coils when down and being dried in front of the dining- 
room fire were thinner and rattier and skimpier than 
when up; but I had never been able to investigate this 
delicate matter closely. Angela’s door is securely 
fastened at night. 

My knees turned in from weakness as I crept across 
the carpet and, picking up the shiny snake, offered it to 
her with humility. But she took no notice of it or me; 
we might have been beggar-women who could have 
found charing. Gently I dropped it on to the table in 
front of her, and was preparing to creep away when a 
stifled sound from mother caused me to pause. I 
turned, and found her making violent pantomimic 
gestures. They fascinated me for an instant, the con- 
tortions of her face were so truly remarkable. 

“What is it? What do you want me to do?” I 
grimaced back at her. 

Quickly she pointed a finger at Angela, whose 
wounded back was turned to us. Then it became clear 
to me — I was to apologize, I was to say I was sorry. 
I wondered I had not grasped it sooner. 

“ Never ! ” I shouted. Mother’s lip gave an ominous 
tremble. “ Never! ” I reiterated fiercely, steeling myself 
against the tremble. “Never! It was her own fault.” 

“Do, Hazel. Angela will never forgive you,” she 
whispered. 

“I don’t care; I don’t want her forgiveness. She 
[ 234 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


called me a liar and shameless.” I was lashing up my 
anger. The bare patches on Angela’s head had at first 
awed me, but now I was becoming accustomed to the 
sight my courage was returning. “ She must apologize 
to me this time, and I — may forgive her,” I added with 
magnanimity. I spoke loudly, and drew up the easy- 
chair to the fire, turning up my silk gown to prevent 
singeing. Mother looked positively aghast. “ I am not 
a little girl,” I continued. “ For the sake of peace and 
quietness I have always given in to Angela. I have 
submitted to being ordered about, dictated to, bossed, 
and I will stand it no longer. From this moment there 
will be a change, a big change.” My voice rang out 
defiantly. “ When I choose to stay in my bedroom and 
have a fire I shall consult you alone. I shan’t be driven 
to have a sore throat : Angela forced me to have a sore 
throat, Ang ” 

I stopped dead, for Angela had slowly turned her 
head and was fixing me with an eye. It is difficult to 
explain, it is impossible, it is beyond the descriptive 
powers of an ordinary human being to describe that 
eye of Angela’s. It was her right eye; her head was 
only partly turned, and the left eye was not visible. 
Perhaps one eye is more awful than two; I cannot say; 
I only know that my courage went. It did not ooze 
after the ordinary habits of courage about to depart, 
it just went like a rocket. One moment I sat with 
folded arms, Napoleon-like in my attitude, defying the 
world ; the next I was standing behind my sister’s chair, 
[ 235 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


saying, “ I am sorry, Angela, sorry for knocking off your 
hair, and I will never do it again.” 

And that is why to-day I feel like a blighted weeping 
willow, and stand in my old brown stuff frock pickling 
onions. I am a craven, a coward; I am pulpy and 
characterless. I am perfectly aware that Elizabeth 
should pickle onions, and not I; her eyes should be 
watering, and not mine ; her hands should be tying the 
bladders on the top of the jars, and not mine; but 
Angela willed it so. Angela decreed that I should 
pickle onions as a penance. She did not say so, but I 
know it. Yesterday I knocked off her dead hair, to-day 
I pickle onions : the connection is obvious. 

I am a woman, I am twenty-one; I am tall and 
strong in body, with a fine digestion and abundance 
of courage toward the world generally — toward every- 
thing and everybody — till Angela comes along, then I 
shrink into an infant of six months. Why should this 
be ? Am I really weak, really cowardly ? or is Angela 
something not human? She may be one of a stone 
species. There was a Stone Age, why not a stone 
species? And yet that false hair! People of stone 
wouldn’t mind thin places and bald patches, they 
wouldn’t consider their appearance. Yes, Angela is 
human ; it is I who am at fault. I have allowed he: to 
rule me since the day I was born, and now when the 
yoke has become intolerable I am too weak and cow- 
ardly to throw it off. But I have put four times too 
many peppercorns into the pickle and two ounces of 
cayenne, and Angela doesn’t like hot things. 

[ 236 ] 


CHAPTER XVIII 

Mr. Inderwick Asks a Direct Question, and I Reply 

W HEN I looked out of my bedroom window 
this morning my sleepy eyes rested upon a 
soft tumble of swansdown and velvety blue 
sky and white trees heavily laden. There had been a 
fall of snow in the night — ^the elements had planned 
for once to be seasonable — and the whole world — my 
world, the Welsh hills, and fields and garden and oak 
trees were of a dazzling whiteness, all save the big, 
solemn trunks which showed up green, and the little 
holes which Sammy’s and Dibbs’s feet had made in 
trampling across the lawn. 

“ How wonderfully beautiful ! ” I murmured. “ How 
good to be alive in spite of — ^Angela and things like 
pickled onions,” and yet a few hours later I was almost 
wishing that Hazel Wycherley were snuffed out. For 
I have dealt a man — one of the nicest of men — a nasty 
knock, and I would have given much to have been able 
to stay my hand, but I couldn’t. 

Robert Inderwick asked me this afternoon to be his 
wife, and I have said “No.” I pause now and wonder 
[ 237 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


what made me, for the moment he had gone a feeling 
of desolation fell upon me; I felt all queer and empty 
inside, but perhaps that was because we had been such 
good friends, had seen so much of each other lately. 
I naturally missed him, as I should miss any friend. 
I wonder. 

When I think of his face as I said “Good-by” I 
could sob, and it seems so strange to think that I have 
been able to call up such a look on any man’s face. It 
almost makes me feel frightened, frightened and yet 
curiously happy. Whatever else in life lies before me — 
whatever sorrow, loneliness, misery — I shall always 
have that to look back upon, that once Robert Inder- 
wick loved me greatly and wished me to be his wife; 
he did me that honor. So few people have loved me — 
only father and — Aunt Menelophe — I think she cares 
for me a little, and mother might if Angela would allow 
her. 

If only I could have said “Yes” instead of “No.” 
But I could not go to him empty-handed, give nothing. 
He said that he had enough love for both of us, and 
that he would teach me to care for him after we were 
married. But I don’t want to be taught; I want to 
love him spontaneously. I want to love as well as be 
loved. If I don’t love him now, I am sure I shouldn’t 
afterward — I could never be taught. And I don’t feel 
I could settle in Heatherland for the rest of my days. 
And I am sure his untidy clothes would worry me. 
To-day, for instance, there was a bit of white woolly 
[ 238 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


stuff poking out of his tie where the silk was all worn — 
he has worn the same tie for three months, and it is so 
ugly; and his boot-laces were knotted in three places. 
Now I could not marry a man who wore ties with pro- 
truding insides. So that clearly proves I don’t love 
him. Such trifles wouldn’t affect me in the least if I 
loved him tremendously. 

He says I expect too much of love, that most women 
do. That they go analyzing and probing into their 
feelings and wondering “Do I love him suflSciently? 
Is this love, or am I only pleased and flattered ? ” That 
they keep pulling up this poor love by the roots 
like a radish to see how it is growing, till they have 
killed it. 

But I am not like that, for I have kept putting the 
whole thing from me. I think for the last few weeks 
I have been realizing vaguely that Robert Inderwick 
was beginning to like me a little, but I wouldn’t allow 
myself to believe it or think about it. I knew, if it were 
so, that all our fun and pleasant friendship must cease; 
that I must no longer meet him for walks or have good 
times with him; all would be ended, and my life duller 
than ever. No, I have not allowed myself to think, and 
we might have gone on in the same jolly, friendly way 
for months if only I had not made an idiot of myself, 
and cried. That weeping precipitated matters; I 
might have known he would just be the sort of man to 
go and get upset by a girl’s silly tears, and yet I could 
not help it. If a Spanish Inquisition man had come 
[ 239 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


along and said, ‘‘ Now, if you shed one tear I shall pop 
you on the rack,” I should still have cried. There are 
moments when you can no more prevent yourself from 
doing a thing than you can stop yourself breathing for 
any length of time. 

And the cause of my distress was nothing very seri- 
ous, nothing more than usual — it was only Angela. 
Angela had tried me sorely, it is true, but then she 
always tries me sorely. She had given me Fox’s “ Book 
of Martyrs ” for a Christmas present at breakfast, and 
she knew how much I wanted a lace collar. Then at 
dinner she gave me a lecture; I preferred the martyrs. 
She said it had been hinted to her by Mrs. Oates — old 
cat! — that all Heatherland was gossiping about the 
outrageous way I had flirted with Mr. Inderwick when 
we were decorating the font; that he, poor man, had 
made several efforts to remind me that I was in a place 
of worship, but I would not be snubbed. I fairly sat 
and gasped with rage, but mother’s imploring eye and 
the white cotton-wool text over the sideboard, “ Peace 
on earth, goodwill toward men,” helped me to confine 
my anger to long gasps. In addition she observed that 
the mince-pies were as heavy as lead — I made the 
pastry this week — and that I looked sallow — just as 
though everybody didn’t look sallow in the snow — and 
was I bilious. 

As she swallowed her last fragment of walnut I 
bolted from the room, seized my hat and jacket, and 
dashed out of the house. I felt I must have air, space, 
[ 240 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


to be alone; above all, to be alone in the beautiful still 
whiteness, quite alone. And then — if Mr. Inderwick 
didn’t appear, just as I was turning on to Oldfield 
Common, and join me on my walk, in the way he 
always does appear to join people on their walks, for 
all the world like a collie dog. 

“ What is the matter ? ” he asked. 

“ What do you mean ? ” I inquired coldly. 

“What made you dash out of the house and tear 
along as though you intended getting to Bagdad and 
back before nightfall ? ” 

“ How did you know ? ” 

“ I was standing at the window.” 

“You must have good eyesight,” I observed. 

“ Not particularly. I had a field-glass.” 

I stopped short in the road. 

“ Is it your custom to spy upon your friends ? ” 

He looked a little guilty. 

“ Sometimes, not often,” he replied. 

“It is pleasing for us, I am sure. I was under the 
impression an Englishman’s home was his castle, free 
from the curious gaze of the stranger, the vulgar stare 
of the outsider. Perhaps you will turn a searchlight 
on to us next.” 

“Don’t be disagreeable,” he said; “this is Christ- 
mas Day, and you should be at peace with all your 
fellow-men. Why did you rush out like that? Tell 
me. Was there anything wrong ? ” 

“ I was sick of Angela and the house.” 

16 [ 241 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


The words slipped out unwittingly, and I made no 
attempt to recall them. 

“Poor child,’’ said he gently. 

The sympathy in his voice fell as balm on my weary 
spirit, and — suddenly two big tears welled up into my 
eyes. He looked away from me at once. 

“You know Angela is a little trying at times,” I 
went on. “I don’t think she means to be, but I — 

I ” my voice quavered, then broke, and I was 

fairly crying like a baby. Vainly I struggled to check 
the tears which were racing down my cheeks and 
splashing on to my muff, but they would not be checked. 
His “ poor child ” had opened the flood gates, and the 
tears chased each other as though they never meant 
to stop. 

“What must you think of me?” I asked at length 
with a big gulp. “I never cry — at least not often. I 
can’t think what is the matter with me. You shouldn’t 
have sympathized with me, sympathy is a fatal thing. 
I must go home. I can’t be seen like this.” 

. “You’re all right,” he said, still without looking at 
me. “ Come down this quiet lane, it leads to the shore, 
doesn’t it ? We shan’t meet a soul for at least a couple 
of miles, and then you will be feeling better.” 

I followed him unresistingly. I was very tired, and 
he seemed so big and strong, the very size of his pres- 
ence soothed me. We walked along for some time in 
silence through the soft snow, his head always turned 
Deeward and mine Heatherland way. Gradually the 
[ 242 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


tears dried up, and I began to feel better. My eyes 
smarted wofully, and my nose felt as though it ought 
to belong to Joey Tomlinson, but my heart seemed five 
or six pounds lighter. 

“I am better now,” I said, “and I want you to talk; 
but don’t look at me for quite half an hour, please, not 
till the wind has had a chance.” 

“ All right,” he replied, “ but couldn’t you make it a 
quarter of an hour ? Thirty minutes is a long time.” 

“No,” I said firmly, “you would have a dreadful 
shock.” 

“I like shocks.” 

“Not this kind. I know I resemble a spotted red 
cabbage.” 

“ I never saw one. May I look ? ” 

“ Certainly not, you promised. Now will you talk ” 

“ What am I to talk about ? I am out of practice.” 

“Of anything, of anybody, so long as it makes me 
forget myself. You don’t know how ashamed I feel. 
And I had really nothing to cry about, nothing of any 
importance — no death, or disgrace, or ruin staring us 
in the face, just a few small worries, chiefly of my own 
manufacture. You must think me an awful baby.” 

“No, I don’t,” he answered, and I wondered how 
he managed to get his gruff voice so soft and gentle. 
“I think you are jolly plucky. If your sister were 
mine I should bash her head in.” 

“Mr. Inderwick,” I cried, “I would like to shake 
hands with you. I have no right to allow you to say 
[ 243 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


such a thing. It is wrong of me, wicked, unsisterly, 
unfeeling, unnatural. I ought to be horrified, but I 
tliink it’s the grandest thing I ever heard in my life. 
It’s what I have been wanting some one to say for over 
fifteen years ; it’s what I have been wanting some one 
to do. Probably I should stop your bashing in her head 
if you attempted it, my feelings as a sister might become 
too strong for me, but I should know you had the 
desire to do so. Someone besides myself had wanted 
to bash in Angela’s head. Thank you for saying those 
words. Shake hands, I shall deem it an honor.” 

I stopped and held out my hand. He took it gravely 
into his big, woolly one, and then appeared to forget 
to let go. 

“ May I look now ? It is nearly half an hour.” 

“No,” I said quickly, and he straightway looked, 
and what I saw in his face caused me to wrest away my 
hand and start off at a brisk pace down the road. 

He strode after me. “Wait a minute,” he called 
imperatively, “it’s got to be said.” 

“Not to-day,” I cried, my heart beating violently. 
(There was no use pretending I did not know his 
meaning, it was too obvious.) “Not to-day. I’m not 
— ready — and we are having such a jolly time.” 

“Are we? And not five minutes since you were 
crying enough to break your heart. And I had to 
stand there like a stuck pig, and could do nothing 
to help you, absolutely nothing, and — I could hardly 
keep my hands off you. God, I would have given every- 
[ 244 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


thing I possess to have been able to comfort you, to 

help you, and ” then his voice broke suddenly. 

“ Hazel, little Hazel, won’t you let me take care of you ? 
I would take such good care of you. You want looking 
after, you are such an excitable, feverish — child I was 
going to say ; you are a child one moment and a woman 
the next, the one woman in the world to me. And I’m 
getting an old fellow, according to you, though I’m 
young as men go, and I’m gruff, but ” 

“Don’t, Mr. Inderwick,” I interrupted, “don’t say 
any more.” I was walking for my life and becoming 
breathless. “ I can’t listen to you.” 

“But you shall,” he cried, getting in front of me. 
“You’ve got to listen, it’s only fair. You’ve got to sit 
down on this stile here and listen, and when I have said 
my say you shall go.” 

Meekly I sat down. His hands had hurt, and there 
was a sternness in his face which was not to be trifled 
with. He stood beside me, partly leaning against the 
stile, his face turned toward the hills across the water. 

“ Well ? ” I said at length a little nervously. 

Then the muscles of his face relaxed, and he turned 
to me with one of his rare, whimsical sort of smiles. 

“ Is it well ? ” he asked. “ Say it is well. Hazel. I do 
so love you. It is impossible to make you understand 
how I love you. Will you be my wife ? Don’t answer 
in a hurry, give me a chance. I never meant to speak 
for weeks. I thought somehow you were not ready. 
I hoped you might be ready if I gave you more time; 

[ 245 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


but your crying — God, every tear hurt like hell ! ” He 
came closer and laid his hand on mine. “Won’t you 
look up, Hazel, and say that one day you will marry 
me ? I don’t ask you to marry me to-morrow — I must 
give you time to get used to the idea — say not for six 
months; that’s a deuce of a time, but I would wait. 
I would wait even longer than that if only you will say 
you love me the least little bit, and will one day come 
and live with me at the Old Hall Farm.” 

“I can’t,” Mr. Inderwick, I said. “I can’t. I’m 
awfully sorry, but it’s impossible.” 

“ Why can’t you ? ” he asked sharply. 

“ I don’t — love you.” 

“ Not the least little bit ? ” 

“Not the least little bit,” and I wondered was this 
the truth. 

He turned away and was silent for some minutes. 

“Then you have only felt like a friend all these 
weeks ? ” 

“ Yes,” I whispered. “ Haven’t you ? ” 

“No, I haven’t. I believe I have loved you since 
the day I saw you in church, certainly since the moment 
when you smiled at me. I thought that smile was the 
most delightful of any that had ever fallen my way, 
and they had not been many since — since my mother 
died. I thought ” 

“You knew me, then ? ” I broke in. 

“ Yes, I knew you.” 

“And you didn’t smile back,” I said with some 
[ 246 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


heat; “you deliberately snubbed me and put me to 
shame in the presence of the whole congregation.” 

“ Snub you ! ” he ejaculated. “ Why, my breath was 
taken away. I had been staring at you ever since you 
had entered the church, wondering who you were — I 
did not recognize you till afterward — thinking that as 
you stood there in that frilly white thing you wore and 
the yellow roses, that — that — well, that you were the 
prettiest girl my eyes had rested on for many a long 
year. I was wishing I could see your full face, when 
suddenly round you turned and flashed that smile upon 
me, fairly dazzling me, knocking me all of a heap, and 
by the time my feeble intelligence had grasped that it 
was really intended for me, you had turned away in a 
horrid temper — a most unchristian temper.” 

“ I admit I was cross,” I said, laughing. 

“Yes, and you were not only cross when you sat on 
the gate that afternoon, but abominably rude and 
unkind. I think I was very patient and forgiving to 
ever speak to you again after the disagreeable speeches 
you flung at me; but I couldn’t help it, for the next 
time I saw you you were ducking for apples in a tub. 
I wonder if you knew how you looked as you emerged 
from its depths with your eyes shining and the little 
drops of water sparkling on your dark, fluffy hair. 
And later on you were seedy and faint. Do you re- 
member? You were quite nice and gentle, and not 
independent and prickly as a thorn-bush, and you 
leaned on me and let me take care of you. I knew then 
[ 247 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I was beginning to love you. A something came over 
me as you groped your way through the hall — at each 
step leaning more heavily upon me — a longing to 
always take care of you thus. Hazel ” — he came closer 
to me but did not touch me — “Hazel, won’t you give 
me the right to look after you again — now and always ? 
I would take such good care of you, I would be so 
gentle; you think me rough, I know, but I could be 
gentle. Are you quite sure you don’t love me a little, 
just a trifling bit ? You don’t seem to dislike being with 
me. We were friends in the old days, and these last few 
months we have not had bad times together, have we ? ” 

He looked long and searchingly into my face, and 
oh, how I wished he wouldn’t! When he talked so I 
felt I must say “ Yes,” and yet did I love him ? It is 
so difiicult, so dreadfully difficult for a woman to 
know. So difficult to distinguish between interest, 
good comradeship, a desire to be liked and admired by 
a man, a desire to be in the society of a man — and love. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whispered, when I 
could bear his scrutiny no longer. “ I can’t talk to you 
if you do, and I want to — to thrash things out, to ex- 
plain. I don’t want to appear to have been unfair. It 
is quite true, I do like being with you tremendously. 
No one knows how much I have enjoyed our walks and 
talks. You are so unexpected and — and rude, so dif- 
ferent from Frederick Moss and the few other men I have 
known. I was so delighted when I heard you had come 
to the Old Hall Farm. When I went for walks I hoped 
[ 248 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


always that I should meet you. I looked for your 
coming, I was low at the thought of your being away at 
Christmas. You see how honest I am, but — that does 
not follow I love you or want to be with you always, 
does it ? Have you ever thought, Mr. Inderwick, what 
it must be always to live with a person ? ” 

“Often,” he replied vehemently; “I have thought of 
little else for the last four months. It has been with me 
sleeping and waking. I have seen you curled up in the 
big armchair in my den on the opposite side of the 
hearth to me — ^you with your book, I with mine. I 
have imagined that something amused you, took your 
fancy, and you wanted to read it to me; and that, for 
my better hearing, as I am getting “so old,” I have 
made you cross the hearth and come closer to me, very 
close, and we have read and laughed over the passage 
together. I have pictured you in the high-backed oak 
chair at the other end of the table at breakfast, throw- 
ing impertinent speeches at me from behind the coffee- 
pot, discussing the affairs of the nation in your cus- 
tomary illogical way. I’ve heard your high-heeled 
slippers tap, tapping across the stone hall, and your 
skirts swishing up and down the staircase as you 
busied yourself about your household affairs — Parian 
jugs and bronze horses, for instance ! ” 

He paused and smiled banteringly at me. 

“ Go on,” I commanded. 

“I’ve seen you lazing in the orchard on summer 

afternoons in that pretty white frock of yours ” 

[ 249 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ It would be worn out,” I interrupted. 

“I should instantly get you another,” he made 
answer. “We would go together to Liverpool to buy 
it and a big shady sun hat. I picture you more than 
any other way in that sun hat. We are on the shore 
together poking about for eels as we did years ago ; we 
are in hayfields; we are having tea in the garden; we 
are strolling through the lanes on summer nights, but 
you are always in that hat.” 

“It would get very shabby,” I suggested. 

He did not answer, he did not appear to hear me; 
his eyes were on the hills. 

“Yes, you are always with me in thought,” he 
continued. “Where you are and what you are doing 
I am and I am doing; and now ” 

He ceased abruptly. 

“You are imaginative and romantic,” I remarked 
flippantly. I did not feel flippant; I felt if he said 
another word I should again burst into tears. 

“No” (his voice was very quiet), “I don’t think so. 
I am not young enough to be romantic. It is all quite 
natural. When you love a person deeply you want to 
have that person with you, that is all. It is not ro- 
mance, it is common sense. I care for you more than 
I thought it was possible to care for any one. Six months 
ago I should have said it was quite impossible. I have 
never been a lover of mankind generally. I am not 
gregarious ; I have lived much alone, and never seemed 
to feel my loneliness till lately. Now I am very lonely.” 

[ 250 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ So you want me because you are dull ? ” 

“ No, I am only dull because I want you.” 

We sat in silence for some time. A peewit hovered 
and circled and cried mournfully above the snowy 
fields; the afternoon was waning, and I shivered. He 
noticed it, and laid his big gloved hand very gently on 
mine. 

“Well, little Hazel, have you nothing to say.^” 

I shook my head. 

“ Not one kind word ? You can’t find one small 
corner in your heart for me ? ” 

“You would want a very large one, I think,” I 
answered tremulously. 

“No, I would be content with quite a minute place 
at first. I’m not greedy; at least, mot very. Do you 
mind answering me a question — truthfully — then you 
shall go?” 

“ I’ll try, but don’t make it very difficult.” 

“ Why don’t you love me, or why do you think you 
don’t love me ? That is not very difficult, is it ? I quite 
realize I am not attractive, and that there is no special 
reason why a girl should fancy me; but I would like to 
know why you in particular don’t care about me.” 

He looked at me gravely. 

“That is an exceedingly difficult question,” I said. 
“ I don’t think I can answer it.” 

“ A case of Dr. Fell ? ” he asked. 

“No; for I do like you very, very much, as I said 
before.” 


[ 251 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Well, try to think of anything you may have 
against me. Imagine that I am not asking you to 
marry me; look upon me as your brother.’’ 

“That would be delightful,” I said, smiling. “If 
you were my brother I should have heaps of fault to 
find with you.” 

“ Out with them, I’m all attention.” 

“Well, first, you are so untidy and careless about 
your appearance. It is shocking. Your tie, now, for 
instance.” 

“What’s the matter with it?” he inquired wonder- 
ingly, putting his hand to his neck. 

“All its woollen inside is coming out. You have 
worn it for three months on end, and it’s very ugly. 
Blue doesn’t suit you; you should wear green.” 

“ Should I ? Well, that’s quite easy. I will order a 
dozen green ties to-morrow. Why didn’t you say so 
before ? ” 

“It’s nothing to do with me,” I said distantly. 

“Perhaps not, but it would have been kind of you. 
Anything else ? ” 

“ Your boots ” 

“What’s wrong with them? They are a splendid 
pair,” he said, glancing down. 

“ Look at the laces,” I commanded. 

He looked, and became thoughtful. 

“But you don’t mean to say a girl would refuse a 
man because of his boot-laces ? ” he asked indig- 
nantly. 


[ 252 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Some girls might. Women are very easily affected 
by small external matters,” I said lightly. 

“They are not worth having, then; men are better 
without them.” 

His voice was hard, and I suddenly felt very small. 

“ Of course I was joking,” I murmured. 

“I don’t think you were altogether. But you are 
quite right; I believe a very small thing would turn 
the scale of a woman’s love if — she were in doubt. 
You don’t love me, that is evident. I don’t reproach 
you. I only wish you could. I am sorry. I shall 
probably go on caring about you always; that is the 
trouble with a man when he begins to care after thirty, 
but it can’t be helped. I shall worry through some- 
how.” 

He rose and offered me his hand to help me down. 

“ You are cold,” he said more gently. * “ We will 
walk quickly.” 

Not a word passed till we reached the front gate of 
Shady Oak. 

“Good-by,” he then said, as he held my hand for 
a minute. “ Good-by, little Hazel.” 

“It won’t be good-by; you mean good-night? I 
shall see you again ? ” I asked. 

“No, I shan’t see you again if — I can help it. I 
could not bear it. Good-by.” 

“ But why not ? Couldn’t we be friends ? ” I insisted. 

“No,” he answered sternly, “we couldn’t. You 
miffht, but not I. That is where women are so dull of 
[ 253 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


comprehension. Excuse me, I am not speaking per- 
sonally, but of women as a class. They appear to 
think they can go to any lengths with a man who is in 
love with them — if they have once rejected him. They 
offer to be friend, sister, step-mother, grandmother, 
anything in fact but wife; and men are mostly fools 
enough to accept such offers, hoping for more to follow, 
but I — forgive me. Hazel, I am rough. You meant it 
kindly, but it’s impossible, I love you too much.” 

Then he left me, and the world seemed suddenly cold 
and empty. 


[ 254 ] 


CHAPTER XIX 


I Desire to he a Lotus-Eater^ and Sammy Brings me 
Rudely to Earth 

“In the afternoon they came unto a land 
In which it seemed always afternoon.” 

I WANT to come to such a land. I want to be a 
lotus-eater. I want it to be always afternoon. 
A curious dulness and slackness seem to have over- 
come me. I feel hke that toad who, after being em- 
bedded in rock for thousands of years, on being rudely 
ejected, simply sat down on its haunches and blinked. 
I want to sit down on my haunches and blink in a sunny 
spot under a sunny wall. I might muster up sufficient 
energy to fold my hands on my lap as looking more 
elegant, but afterward I should want to sit absolutely 
still and just let the sunshine filter through my tired 
being. 

An hour ago I expressed such a wish to mother 
and Angela. They were sitting turning sides of sheets 
to middle. I feared a desire that I should assist at this 
pleasant work might overcome them, and forestalled it 
by trying to make them understand that I felt like a 
[ 255 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


thousand-year-old toad and had leanings toward being 
a lotus-eater. 

Angela was not sympathetic; she simply handed 
me a sheet and said lotus-eaters were very well in their 
way, but they invariably sent up the poor rates a penny 
in the pound. I admitted there might be some truth in 
her statement, but did she not think such people were 
rather soothing at times, rather restful to come across 
after the bustle of the world ? 

She replied they never rested her; she was only 
sorry for their relations, who in later years would be 
bound to keep them, because they — the lotus-eaters — 
indulged in a picturesque horror of the workhouse. 

“ What am I to do with the sheet ? ” I asked in van- 
quished tones. “Dusters, and bandages for Betty 
Totty’s bad leg, or sides to middle ? ” 

“Sides to middle, and use fifty cotton; the last you 
did scrubbed,” she said with such conviction in her 
voice that I believed her and was glad. 

I crawled under the sofa for mother’s “Church 
Times” footstool. On it I placed my feet to make a 
firm, unslopy knee for my sheet, and resignedly I 
started on that long seam without a turning, and tried 
not to think of — of — many things. I must-have been 
sewing for ten minutes before mother discovered with 
horror that I was seaming with black cotton. 

“ I told you I felt like a very, very old toad,” I said. 

They regarded me with widely-dilated pupils for the 
space of sixty seconds. Appealingly I returned mother’s 
[ 256 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


look. I fetched my whole soul into my eyes. I tried to 
look as Dibbs looks when he wants a bit of meat from 
my plate. I wagged my tail insinuatingly, and mother 
relented. 

“Put it away,” she said gently. “You look tired. 
What is the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing,” I quavered. 

“ Really ? ” she questioned. 

“Really, motherkins,” I replied untruthfully, stoop- 
ing to kiss her. She held my face for a moment. I 
could feel the little rough, worn finger of her left hand 
which has sewn so much and received so many pricks 
in its life, and I turned and kissed it. 

“There is something wrong with you. Hazel, your 
face is quite thin,” she insisted. 

“Mother, you are imaginative. I am always well,” 
I answered, stroking the finger. “ I am only lazy and 
—dull.” 

“ There will be the concert at the schools next week, 
and two humorous recitations in addition to the tragic 
one Frederick Moss is giving.” She spoke buoyantly, 
and I kissed her again. 

“So there will, mother mine. It will be great fun,” 
I replied with equal cheerfulness, and then I slipped 
away into the garden. 

The snow had gone ; the air was soft, almost balmy, 
and there was that strange, premature touch of spring 
in it which so frequently follows snow, just as though 
the earth had been warmed and caressed by the soft 
17 [ 257 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


white mantle, and was stirring in its sleep. As I felt 
its breath on my cheek my heart gave a little jumpy 
thrill. It always does when spring is in the air, my 
pulses quicken and a happiuess — quite a different kind 
of happiness from any other — rushes through me. But 
this was only January 1st; it was ridiculous to think of 
spring. There were all the rains of fill-dyke February, 
and the biting winds of March to be got through first. 
Many weeks must pass before I could be out of doors 
— really out of doors. How should I get through them ? 
Each week stretched away into another age. I saw 
myself an old, gray, toothless woman by the time sweet, 
smiling, rosy May was with us. 

I sat down on the garden-roller under the privet 
hedge, and thought again of that land in which it 
seemed always afternoon. 

“Here are cool mosses deep, 

And thro’ the moss the ivies creep, 

And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep. 

And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.” 

“ The poppy hangs in sleep ! ” As the lotus-eaters said, 
“ All things have rest : why should we toil alone ? We 
only toil, who are the first of things.” I turned and 
gathered a little folded privet-leaf. It had nothing to 
do but “grow green and broad. . . . Sun-steep’d at 
noon, and in the moon nightly dew-fed; and turning 
yellow, falls and floats adown the air.” It would never 
be dull or tired or depressed. It lay on the palm of my 
hand, a little green thing fast asleep. 

[ 258 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

Sammy broke in upon my reflections. 

“ Would you like a russet apple. Miss Hazelt ? ” 

I told him ‘‘No.” 

“ A Ribston pippin ? ” 

“No, thank you, Sammy,” I replied. 

“ Aren’t you well. Miss Hazelt ? ” 

People of a sudden seemed extraordinarily inter- 
ested in the state of my health. 

“ Perfectly, thanks. Why ? ” 

“ Never knew you to refuse a Ribston pippin before. 
Miss Hazelt.” 

I smiled. “ Well, I don’t mind owe,” I said gra- 
ciously as I got off the roller. 

He led the way to the apple-room, and a warm fruity 
smell greeted us as he unlocked the door. I sat down 
on a wooden box and watched him as he slowly passed 
from one shelf to another. His movements, unhurried 
and deliberate, invariably remind me of a bishop in a 
cathedral. Were all gardeners born slow ? Was Adam 
leisurely? Did he water the little thirsty summer 
flowers as though performing the sacrament of bap- 
tism — ^gently and deliberately, with can raised aloft — 
while Eve bustled round and hoed the potato-bed and 
brushed up the leaves ? The only occasion upon which 
Sammy has ever been known to get up any degree of 
speed is when our two fowls. Bandy-legs and Yellow 
Tuft, stray away into Sandy Lane in search of ad- 
venture; then with hurried gait and waving arms he 
“ shoos ” them home. 


[ 259 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


As I munched my apple I reflected that he would 
make a good lotus-eater, and suggested how pleasant 
it would be to go away together to some little sun- 
kissed, wave-washed island in the Pacific, and do noth- 
ing till we died. 

“ Wouldn’t you like it, Sammy — 

“With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
Falling asleep in a half dream?” 


I murmured. 

He sat down on the inverted box of the mowing- 
machine. 

“I don’t think I understand you rightly. Miss 
Hazelt.” 

“Well, Sammy, you eat a plant; then you just lie 
down in the languid, svjooning air upon the yellow 
sand, and everything seems to go away from you, your 
own voice sounds far-away and thin, you feel — well, 
you feel as you do when you first begin to inhale gas, 
only much nicer; and there you lie, dozing and dream- 
ing, and sweet music falls upon your ears- 

“ Music that gentlier on the spirit lies 
Than tir’d eyelids upon tir’d eyes.” 

And you stay on in this little island — a ‘ land of streams * 
— dozing and dreaming, dozing and dreaming till you 
die.” 

His answer was irrelevant, and brought me to my 
feet with a bound. 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ I’m thinkin’ you be wantin’ to mate, Miss Hazelt!” 

“ Sammy ! ” I shouted. 

“Yes, I do. All young things does; it’s human 
natur’. You’ve all the symptims. You be lookin’ 
pale and peaky-loike.” 

His voice was dogged. 

“ Sammy, how dare you say such things ! It’s untrue, 
you know it’s untrue ! ” 

I went closer and glowered upon him, and he backed 
away from me. 

“Beggin’ your parding. Miss Hazelt, but it’s the 
truth as I’m a-sayin’ and I’m sorry to contradict you, 
but the symptims — they never decaive auld Sammy. 
Some gets ’em one way, some another. Yours is extry 
bad — ^wantin’ to take gas and sittin’ about yaller sands 
till you dies, catchin’ the rheumatics, catchin’ ” 

“Sammy” — I hardly recognized my own voice — 
“I must leave you. You completely forget yourself. 
I am surprised and sorry. I never thought you could 
have spoken so to me. Besides, I was under the im- 
pression you were truthful. I thought ” 

“ And it is the truth, God’s gospil truth. Miss Hazelt, 
askin’ your pardin, and real sorry I am for offendin’ 
you, which shows it’s the truth, or you wouldn’t be so 
moidered about it. People’s only moidered about 
things which people says about ’em when they’s true. 
There’s summat the matter wid you, Sammy knows 
every look of your purty face. You’re not yourself. 
You never laughs now as you did. You’re dull-loike, 
[ 261 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and now you wants to go and live on an island in the 
Pacific Ocean and listen to music, and not ten minutes 
since you was sittin’ on the roller talking to a leaf off 
the privit hedge — I heard you.” 

I laughed; though I struggled against it, his evidence 
of the state of mind I was supposed to be in was so 
conclusive and overwhelming. 

“ You shouldn’t have been listening. It is low down 
to eavesdrop; I am surprised at you. I had formed a 
better estimate of your character, Sammy.” 

“ I wasn’t listenin’' Miss Hazelt. I just heard you.” 

His voice was imperturbable. 

“I see, and — as we are on the subject, though you 
must never refer to it again — how long is it since you 
made this startling discovery about me? How long 
have I been wanting to — ^to get married ? ” 

I endeavored to get the entire Arctic regions into my 
voice and attitude, but it was thrown away upon our 
gardener, who settled himself in a comfortable attitude 
in readiness for a long and interesting conversation. 

“I can’t say exactly. Miss Hazelt; it’s been cornin’ 
on slowly. Some thinks since about September, and 
others ” 

“ Some think ! ” I yelled. “ What do you mean ? Do 
you dare to discuss me with the villagers? Do you 
dare ” 

“Gently, gently. Miss Hazelt,” Sammy broke in. 
“Don’t fly out like that; sit yer down. Don’t, now, 
you’ll hurt yourself. Here’s another Ribston, the best 
[ 262 ] 


HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 


on the shelf. Now sit down; don’t let yourself get 
excited. I never discusses you wid no one. It’s not my 
place or duty ” 

“ Well, what do you mean ? Out with it! Be quick! 
Who was it ? Was it Miss Swiftly ? ” I fumed. 

‘‘ Yes — p’r’aps she was one, and there was ” 

“ Sammy,” I said, becoming suddenly calm, “ I don’t 
want to hear any more; I don’t want to hear the others. 
Their names don’t interest me. They are only com- 
mon, vulgar, uneducated gossipers; such people cannot 
possibly interest me. You can see that, my position is 
so different. I am sorry I was angry. I cannot imagine 
how I could have been affected by what you said. It 
was so silly and untrue. But let me give you a word of 
advice — don’t always say what you think; it is unwise, 
very unwise.” 

Then I stalked out of the room, and left Sammy with 
a hanging jaw. 

When I got among the peaceful cabbages I offered 
up a little prayer of thanksgiving for having been led 
to refuse Mr. Inderwick’s offer of marriage. The vil- 
lagers should see. “Wanting to mate!” I put my 
fingers in my ears and closed my eyes and stamped. 
How dare they ! 

I have written to Aunt Menelophe. She said, “If 
ever you are in trouble, bring it to me, tind we will see 
what can be done with it.” I am not in trouble, but I 
[ 263 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


want a change; also I am anxious to give Robert 
Inderwick a chance of taking his walks abroad in 
peace. Up to the present, since — since that afternoon, 
each time I have met him he has bolted away in an- 
other direction, as though I were afflicted with the 
plague. This seems so unnecessary, and must be 
extremely tiresome for him. So I will go. 


[ 264 ] 


CHAPTER XX 


I Start on a Second Visit to Aunt Menelophcy and Rob- 
ert Inderwick Sees me off 



UNT MENELOPHE said “Come,” and I 


came. She wrote such a delightful letter. I 


did not show it to mother and Angela, there 


were reasons for not so doing; Aunt Menelophe is 
almost painfully cute at times. But I read them se- 
lected bits. 

My sister remarked that she appeared to have taken 
a strange and unaccountable fancy to me, and fell to 
musing upon it. Mother was more practical. She 
brought forth her account book and seven purses and 
boxes to see if by any manner of means she could pos- 
sibly afford to spare the money for another visit. 

“ It is not just the railway fare,” she said in depressed 
accents, “there are the servants to be tipped, and you 
will require one new dress at least.” 

“James shall not have a tip,” I said, “I don’t like 
him, he is familiar; and a shilling each to the parlor 
and housemaids will be ample.” 

“No, it won’t,” said mother, “I should not like 
John Wycherley’s daughter to be considered mean.” 


[ 265 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I remarked that they could not have known father, 
as they had been in Aunt Menelophe’s service only a 
short time; but mother told me not to argue, as it was 
a bad habit. 

I left home feeling dull and depressed. The morning 
was raw and bitter, with the wind in the east — the 
special brand of wind which is conducive to headache. 

“ We shall be dull without you ; don’t be long away. 
I can’t imagine why your Aunt Menelophe has invited 
you again so soon,” said mother; “it would have been 
much pleasanter in the summer.” 

I kissed her good-by without replying, and then 
clambered into the ’bus. 

Providence kindly and tactfully arranged that 
Robert Inderwick should travel that morning to Birk- 
enhead by the same ’bus. 

I distinguished his large, great-coated figure at the 
end of the Old Hall Road long before Jerry saw him, 
and my heart jumped into my mouth; it needn’t have 
done so, it was a wasted activity, for on recognizing me 
as he was about to step inside the ’bus he merely bowed 
gravely and went outside. Now only a stupid man 
would do a thing like that. A woman would have more 
sense than to go and sit shivering in the raw air for an 
hour and a half on a bitter morning in January. 

And yet he did not sound cold, I must confess. I 
could hear him chatting pleasantly with Jerry, and 
he was smoking, I knew, from the frequent striking of 
matches. Every now and again he would smooth the 
[ 266 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


bowl of his pipe with his hand, and when it was empty 
stroke it against his cheek. He would be admiring its 
color unconsciously, and when he had finished admir- 
ing it he would smell it lovingly. I had seen him do it 
a dozen times or more. 

I was very dull. My sole companion was Peggy 
Shone, who has asthma and wheezes and takes snuff, 
and she would keep asking me how my ma was. After 
assuring her for the seventh time that my parent’s 
health was exceptionally good I turned my back on her, 
and huddling myself into a corner, drew up the straw 
round my cold legs and feet. For the hundredth time 
I wished devoutly that the man outside had not asked 
me to marry him — at present. It had spoiled every- 
thing — our fun, our walks, our talks — and left my life 
as dull as a graveyard. But for that proposition he 
would have been sitting beside me, inside the ’bus. 
Why could he not have withheld it — for at least another 
six months? Then I should have known him better, 
and — and would have been more than ever convinced 
that I had done the right thing in refusing him. 

He had implied that he should be wretched, that 
he should never stop caring, that he might worry 
through somehow, but — and so on; and there he was 
talking and laughing most cheerfully with Jerry, while 
I sat, cold and wretched, listening to the wheezing of 
Peggy Shone. 

I squeezed out a tear; but on reflecting that there 
was no one there to see it I wiped it away, as it smarted 
in the nipping atmosphere. 

[ 267 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


On arriving at Woodside I scrambled out as quickly 
as my benumbed feet would admit, and ran into the 
station in search of an outside porter, for whom we 
have been searching for years without any success. 
Jerry had dumped my trunk down on to the pavement. 
It would be too cumbersome for a stray thief to pick up 
and bear away, but my portmanteau and hatbox would 
fall an easy prey, so I was obliged to lug them along 
with me. An evil wind waltzed up the landing-stage 
from the river and, turning into the station, attempted 
to grab my hat. I resisted. It was the pink one: I 
had donned it for the sole purpose of teasing Aunt 
Menelophe; I had sacrificed my appearance in antici- 
pation of the real pleasure I should derive from her 
countenance when her eyes fell upon me. It should not 
be wrested from me by any wind. With two fingers of 
the hand which held the hatbox I managed to seize it, 
and promptly the string of the box snapped in twain. 
As it fell it was dexterously caught by a hand which 
unexpectedly shot out from behind me. 

“ You seem to be in difficulties. May I assist you ? ” 

The offer came in a calm, unruflfled voice, from Mr. 
Inderwick, while the portmanteau was drawn gently 
but firmly out of my hand. 

“No, thank you,” I said. “A porter will carry 
them.” 

“He might if there were one, but he does not seem 
to exist; in the mean time I will, if you will permit ?” 

“ But my trunk ! It is outside.” 

[ 268 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

“ No, it is on its way to your train.” 

“ To my train ? ” I echoed. 

“ Yes. The pavement of a busy thoroughfare 
seemed an unsuitable place for it, so I gave a poor 
out-of-work wretch sixpence to transfer it to the 
luggage-van.” 

I handed him the sixpence. Gravely he took it. 

“ How did you know where it was going ? ” I inquired. 

“ It was on the label, of course.” 

“ Oh, of course ! ” I said. 

“ Don’t you think it would be as well to tie up this 
box again ? ” he next suggested evenly. “ It is difficult 
to carry like this.” 

He was hugging it under his arm. 

“ Give it to me,” I demanded. 

“No,” he replied; “I don’t mind carrying it. I 
merely suggested it would be safer with a string in case 
the hat should fall out.” 

“ I haven’t any string,” I said feebly. 

“ I have. We will sit down here for a moment. What 
time does your train go ? ” 

“ Not for half an hour.” 

I watched him as with deft fingers, considering the 
size of his hands, he made up the box. 

“ I think that is firm,” he said at length. 

“ Thank you very much. Cardboard boxes are tire- 
some, slippery things, and don’t look well.” 

“No,” he replied, “they don’t. Why don’t you 
have a leather one with a strap ? ” 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Why don’t I have a lot of other things ? ” I answered 
him crossly. 

He turned and looked at me. 

“You are cold,” he said. “Will you come to the 
refreshment-room and have some coffee ? It will 
probably be abominable, but it may be hot.” 

I began to say “ No, thanks,” but he was leading the 
way and I was docilely following. 

He did not speak again, and I nibbled a sponge-cake 
and drank my coffee in silence. Raising my eyes from 
a time-table I was making a pretence of studying, I 
surprised him in one of his long stares. He finished it 
to the end in no way disconcerted. 

“You have not been well since — I last saw you?” 
he queried. 

“ Quite, thanks,” I answered lightly. 

“Really? Your looks belie you. You seem very 
seedy.” 

“ I was never better,” I persisted. 

He looked at me searchingly again, and to my great 
annoyance my own eyes dropped and I felt the color 
rush into my cheeks. I defy any one to withstand that 
stare of Robert Inderwick’s without fiinching. When 
I thought he really would have finished I looked up 
again, but he was still staring at me. 

“ Do you know,” I said, “ that is a very bad habit of 
yours.” 

“What?” 

“ Of staring at people. It is most embarrassing.” 

[ 270 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I did not know I 
was; but I find it difficult not to look at you.” 

“ Why ? ” I queried with interest. 

“It is hard to say, but yours is a face one likes to 
look at. It is not that it is so pretty, but it changes so 
rapidly; one moment it is sad — almost pathetic — and 
the next it is brimming over with gaiety and happiness. 
I wonder if — ^your character is the same, if your likes 
and dislikes change with the same lightning rapidity, 
because if I thought so I would — ask you a question.” 

“Don’t,” I interrupted hastily, “there is not time. 
I must go for my train, I shall miss it.” 

I rose precipitately. 

“One moment, please sit down for one moment.” 
He took my arm and pushed me back gently on to the 
chair. “I must speak. I may not see you again for 
weeks, and it will be a relief for me to know that I have 
left nothing unsaid.” 

“You have said too much” (I spoke bitterly), “that 
is the trouble. You have put an end to our friendship 
and given me nothing in return. For the last week you 
have avoided me as though I were possessed of a devil.” 

“I have offered you all I have. Hazel. It may not 
be very much, but there it is. The Old Hall Farm may 
not be large or grand, but my love for you could not be 
measured by any ordinary standard of cubic feet or 
inches, it is too big, but you refuse it all.” 

I steeled myself against the sad ring in his voice. 

“ I want your friendship,” I cried querulously. 

[ 271 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERL.AND 


“ And that I cannot give, it is impossible. Anything 
else, but not that.” 

“But why?” 

“ Because you have made it too difficult for me. It 
must be all or nothing. Can’t you see,” he went on 
passionately, “that when a man loves a girl as I love 
you, it is morally impossible for him to be her friend.” 
He leaned across the table. “Can’t you understand, 
or are you too dense ? ” 

“ I think I must be too dense,” I said, trying to laugh ; 
his vehemence had unnerved me. “ But what was this 
question ? I must go.” 

“It was about Heatherland. It struck me after I 
had left you the other day that there might be other 
reasons for your refusing me besides the bootlaces and 
disreputable tie — by the way, do you see I am wearing 
a green one ? ” 

“Yes, it suits you admirably; go on.” 

“Well, I was wondering if the idea of settling in 
Heatherland were distasteful to you. I know you are 
tired of the dulness, and I would live anywhere you 
liked — excepting, perhaps, Brighton,” he ruminated 
for a moment. “No, I couldn’t stick Brighton — but 
anywhere else, at home or abroad or wherever you 
fancied. I could let the Old Hall Farm. Old Crabby 
has left things pretty comfortable for me; I am not 
rich, but I could run — say to a leather hatbox for you 
and lots of things.” 

He stopped and smiled whimsically at me. 

[ 272 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“You are very good” (my voice would shake in 
spite of all my efforts to keep it still), “too good. But 
it’s not Hcatherland. I love the dear old village in 
spite of its dulness. The leather hatbox and all the 
other things have their attractions, but it’s not that. 

It’s ” 

“What?” 

His gruff voice was very gentle. 

“It’s the same as it was the other day. I’m — not 
quite sure of myself. You see, I have known so few 
men. How am I to know whether I love you or not 
till I’ve ” 

I hesitated. 

“ Till you’ve sampled a few. Is that it ? ” he asked 
with a funny smile. 

“ No, it isn’t,” I retorted indignantly. 

“ What do you mean, then ? ” 

“I — don’t quite know,” was my brilliant reply; 
“but please don’t worry me any more.” 

Then I got up and made for the door. He picked up 
my belongings and followed me out. 

“Why did you speak to me to-day?” I asked irri- 
tably. “You’ve only gone and got miserable again, 
and you were quite cheerful with Jerry. If only you 
had not helped me you would — have probably for- 
gotten all about me in a day or two.” 

“ It is possible but not probable, and you seemed in 
such difficulties. I never saw any one look so helpless.” 

“ Oh, I should have managed,” I said with dignity. 

18 [ 273 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“You were not shaping well when I saw you, and 
your best beaver hat would have been spoiled if I had 
not caught that box.” 

“ How did you know it was the beaver ? ” 

I was beginning to feel more cheerful, he sounded 
more like his old self. 

“I guessed; you appear to possess only two hats.” 

I laughed. How exactly like him was this remark. 

“How long will you be away?” he asked, as he 
searched for a comfortable carriage for me. 

“About a month. Aunt Menelophe’s eldest son 
Wellesley, who is a journalist, and Mr. Escourt — the 
man I told you about at the dinner-party — are to be 
down there for a holiday. Wellesley has had influenza, 
and Aunt Menelophe wants me to help entertain them.” 

“Indeed,” he remarked dryly. “So you will have 
your wish gratified and meet one or two men.” 

“I was unaware I had expressed such a wish. I 
should stick to the truth if I were you,” I replied with 
some heat. 

“ Here is a carriage,” he said. “ Will you get in ? ” 

He procured me a foot-warmer and some papers 
and magazines, and then heaved a long sigh. 

“You have been working hard,” I said; “I am 
sorry.’ 

He smiled. 

“ Women do require a lot of things when they travel, 
don’t they ? I suppose you have your ticket ? ” 

I looked blank, an^ he started off down the platform 
[ 274 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


with long, swinging strides. In two minutes he was 
back. 

“Here it is, and don’t lose it; and — here are some 
roses” (he thrust them at me). “And I think I’ll go 
now; I dislike waving to people in retreating trains.” 

I put my hand into his without speaking, and, as 
he walked away, the same empty sort of feeling came 
over me as on Christmas Day — the feeling that some- 
thing valuable had gone out of my life. I shook myself 
vigorously. 

“Hazel Wycherley, you are a fool,” I said. “You 
refuse a man — very properly — because you are con- 
vinced you don’t love him sufficiently to marry him, 
and then you go and want him badly.” 

About half-way down the platform he stopped sud- 
denly, turned round, and walked deliberately back to 
the carriage. 

“ Have you read Browning ? ” he asked abruptly. 

I looked at him in astonishment. 

“ Have you ? ” he repeated. 

“No.” 

“Well, those two men will probably spout him to 
you by the yard.” 

“Well?” 

My surprise was increasing. 

“And they’ll make you a Browningite, and you will 
talk about him. Do you think you are likely to talk 
about him ? ” 

His voice was almost pleading. 

[275 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ I don’t know. Why ? ” 

The train began to move. 

“It would be such a pity, such a thousand pities. 
You are not cut out for that sort of thing. Women 
Browningites talk such infernal rubbish. They tire one 
so, they ” 

The rest of his sentence was drowned in the shrill 
whistle of the engine as we steamed out of the station. 
I laughed. What a strange man he was! I thought 
of him every minute of the way to Blongton, and the 
more I tried not to think of him the more I thought. 

Aunt Menelophe met me. When she caught sight 
of me she closed her eyes, as though in pain. 

“What is it. Aunt Menelophe — one of your old 
headaches ? ” I inquired sympathetically. 

“ That pink abomination,! ” she groaned. “ I begged 
of you never to wear it again.” 

“ But I couldn’t travel in your beautiful beaver with 
all the smuts flying about,” I protested. 

She cast another pained look at me, and then turned 
away quickly. 

“We will burn it to-morrow,” was all she said, but 
there was a note of determination in her voice. 

“Now tell me what is the matter,” she commanded 
as we drove away from the station, “and try and be 
truthful.” 

“ Aunt Menelophe ! ” 

“You may say ‘Aunt Menelophe!’ but girls are 
rarely truthful about their love affairs.” 

[ 276 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Who said it was a love affair?” I demanded 
sharply. 

“You didn’t, but your face does. You have a very 
tell-tale countenance. I suppose it’s that Inderwick 
man ? ” 

She settled herself more comfortably. 

“ Why should you pitch upon him ? ” 

She chuckled. 

“Merely because your allusions to him, in your 
letters, have been conspicuous by their absence, and 
you appear to be able to write reams about every other 
person in Heatherland. Why have you refused him ? ” 

“ Because I don’t care about him.” 

“That appears to be an excellent reason; but are 
you sure you don’t ? ” 

“Quite.” 

She turned, and through her lorgnon examined me 
carefully. 

“I beg to differ from you,” she said. “You have 
marked symptoms of caring for him very much.” 

“ Aunt Menelophe,” I began. 

“We won’t discuss it now, child. The subject will 
probably prove exhausting. Later — this afternoon, 
after I have been stimulated by tea — we shall be alone. 
Did you bring your tea-gown ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Slip into it, then. Tea-gowns are wonderfully 
soothing and helpful in the matter of love affairs. 
You can curl and uncurl and expand in them com- 
[ 277 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


fortably, as your various emotions seize and overcome 
you.” 

“They won’t seize me,” I broke in; “I haven’t 
any.” 

She smiled with gentle patronage. 

“ It is difficult to form a correct estimate of one’s self. 
You are bubbling over with emotion. Your color is 
what novelists describe as fitful; the tears are so near 
the surface at this moment that I doubt if you will last 
out till we get home.” 

“Yes, I shall,” I cried fiercely, swallowing an enor- 
mous lump; “I don’t feel in the least like crying.” 

“Poor little Hazel!” she said softly; then she 
turned and kissed me, and straightway I fell upon her 
neck and wept. 


[ 278 ] 


CHAPTER XXI 


Aunt Menelo'phe Holds Forth on the Subject of Marriage 



UNT MENELOPHE and I have had our talk. 


How adorable she is ! She seems to have the 


brain of a man and the heart of a woman and 


the sympathy of an angel. Just when you think she is 
being a little bit hard on you a beautiful, soft look steals 
across her face, and there creeps into her voice that 
note of sympathy and kindliness which one imagines 
one can hear in the notes of birds on soft evenings in 
April. And she is prettier than ever. The old lace at 
her throat looked like a delicate cobweb mellowed in 
September sunlight, and her hands, as they lay folded 
on her gray poplin gown, reminded me of snowflakes. 

It was good to be again in that soft-tinted, har- 
monious, beautiful room; good to feel my feet sinking 
into the thick carpet, and to drink China tea out of 
those fragile Wedgwood cups. I told her how good 
it was, how glad I was to be with her, how nice and 
soothing to feel I should see her every day for a month. 

“For you will have me for a month, won’t you, 
Aunt Menelophe?” I asked. “You won’t tell me to 


[ 279 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


leave at the end of a fortnight. I want to get braced 
up for — for the spring-cleaning. We are having it 
early this year on account of Easter.” 

“I thought spring-cleanings took place when fires 
were over,” she remarked. 

“We have another then. We are prodigal in the 
matter of cleanings; they are our one extravagance.” 

She sipped her tea meditatively. 

“ And yet you refuse to marry this man.” 

“ I should not marry for the sake of escaping spring- 
cleanings,” I said stiffly. 

She smiled. 

“Now don’t get prickly; it’s a bad beginning. 
Nobody suggested you should. I was merely reflecting 
that there are thousands of girls who would jump at 
such an offer solely to escape the disagreeables and 
worries of their home lives. Such marriages are rarely 
happy; mine wasn’t. I am glad to see you have more 
grit in you.” 

“ Yours ? ” I asked in astonishment. 

“No,” and she sighed, “mine was a mistake. It 
was my own fault. I married your Uncle Archibald 
to get out of playing hezique every evening with an 
aunt who lived with us, and who was stone-deaf, poor 
thing. It was difficult to make her understand what I 
had, and it was her habit to score my points as well as 
her own, so she invariably won. It was a small thing; 
but what annoyed me most was, I had to pay a penny 
into a missionary-box for every game I lost, while she 
[ 280 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


sat and chuckled. Your uncle turned up one night at 
an opportune moment. I had lost four games running, 
and my aunt’s cheating had been excessive even for 
her. Before your uncle left that evening I was engaged 
to him. The shape of his nose was very good — pure 
Greek — ^but I never really loved him. Afterward, poor 
man, he developed gout, and his temper became 
somewhat uncertain.” 

“But he loved you; he mmt have loved you,” I 
interrupted. 

“Yes, I believe he was very fond of me; but the 
trouble was I could not return his affection. He was 
a good man, but he bored me. Even the shape of his 
nose altered — it was the gout,” she added in paren- 
theses. “But he never knew; that was my one con- 
solation. I did him wrong when I married him, and 
the rest of my life I spent in trying to right it. It was 
exhausting at times, but I had my reward when he 
died.” 

“Aunt Menelophe!” I cried aghast. 

“You misunderstand me, child. Strange to say, I 
felt his loss deeply. My reward lay in the knowledge 
that he never found me out. Something he said, just 
before he died, has always been a comfort to me.” 
Her eyes became reminiscent, and I wondered would 
she repeat it. She did. “‘Mene,’ he said, ‘you have 
been a good wife, and I have been a poor sort of hus- 
band. I was never good enough for you, and could 
never understand how you could love me; but that 
1281 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


you have loved me has been the greatest gift of my life, 
and I have thanked God for it every day.’ A person 
with what is called a strict sense of honor would no 
doubt have promptly undeceived him; I didn’t, and 
he died happy. Deceit is often infinitely preferable to 
aggressive honesty. Had I said, ‘Archibald, you are 
mistaken; I have never loved you,’ I should have felt 
that he would have been restless throughout eternity, 
gone wandering about with bare feet and catching his 
death of cold; and a man who has suffered from gout 
in this world deserves a little peace in the next.” 

She stared into the fire, and I could see that old 
memories were crowding in tliick upon her. What a 
wonderfully expressive, beautiful face was hers, crowned 
with its soft white hair! And she had missed love; 
she had missed what she had once said was the best 
thing in life. Presently I asked — 

“Aunt Menelophe, do you think you could have 
loved ? ” 

She looked at me with a little smile. 

“Most women can love. Hazel. I have not been 
an exception. Mine came too late; it was after I was 
married, and — ^he loved me. So my work was doubly 
hard, to crush the one, keep it down, trample on it, and 
— ^build up the other — ^foster and tend and encourage 
the small growth of affection I had managed to raise 
toward my husband. It was very hard; but the man 
— he was good — Whelped me, we helped each other, and 
I suppose God helped us both.” 

[282 3 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Did he ever marry ? ” I asked softly. 

“No, he never married, and he is dead now. Men 
always die before women. It takes a great deal to kill 
us; women cling to life with the tenacity of a cat. You 
meet about one widower to every hundred widows, and 
then he marries again. I always contend that the Lord 
cannot love us as a sex, for He never seems to be in any 
hurry to summon us to His presence. I have told you 
my story — the small tragedy of my life — to make you 
think, pause, and consider well before either refusing 
or accepting an offer of marriage. Don’t rush at a 
man ; neither, on the other hand, be in too big a hurry 
to send him away. The moment he has gone for good 
you may regret it. Personally, I am of the opinion that 
girls of your age are unsuited for marriage; your 
hearts are in too wobbly and pulpy a condition. You 
never know your own minds, and you change in your 
opinions as rapidly as members of Parliament. Had I 
been a little older, I should never have married Archi- 
bald Menzies to escape playing hezique with an aunt, 
however deaf. But now tell me about this man; I 
believe I should like him. Describe him to me; I am 
very sensitive to looks. Is he big ? ” 

“Yes,” I said, “very: the kind of man who seems 
to crowd a room, and he has a slow gait and heavy 
tread.” 

She nodded approvingly. 

“And he has a deep voice and speaks slowly.” 

She nodded again. 


[ 283 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ And does he think slowly ? ” 

“Very slowly, so slowly that I try to help him out 
with it sometimes, and then he waves me on one side 
as though I were a gnat. His very wave is big and 
all-embracing.” 

“Better and better,” cried Aunt Menelophe; “he 
sounds delightful. I like your big, slow of thought, 
slow of speech men; they wear well. The brilliant 
ones are so tiresomely alert, and full of themselves, and 
as to how they are impressing you, that you feel worn 
out after ten minutes of their society. Besides, they 
never listen to you, and there is nothing more annoying 
to a woman than not to be listened to. The less clever 
ones are much more companionable.” 

“ But Mr. Indervdck is not stupid,” I said quickly. 

“No?” 

“I should imagine his brain to be exceptionally 
solid and weighty. What should be the normal weight 
of a man’s brain ? ” 

“About fifty ounces — at least so Butterby says, but 
probably he has mixed up his figures with something 
in natural history.” 

“Well, presuming him to be correct, I am sure Mr. 
Inderwick’s brain must weigh sixty ounces at least,” I 
said. “ He seems to have literally absorbed knowledge. 
There is scarcely anything he does not know. He took 
all sorts of things at Oxford.” I paused, trying to 
recollect his degrees, when Aunt Menelophe annoyed 
me by suggesting measles or typhoid. “Don’t you 
[ 284 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


want to hear about him ? ” I asked a little huffily, “ or 
are you making fun of me ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon, Hazel,” she said. “ It was too 
bad to tease you, but you looked so pretty and earnest 
and thoughtful that — well, I really couldn’t help it. 
Go on; I am deeply interested.” 

Somewhat mollified (it was nice to hear such a com- 
forting description of one’s self after Angela’s pointed, 
personal remarks), I continued at some length. 

“He seems to be a remarkable man,” said Aunt 
Menelophe when I had finished, “ but I don’t like what 
you tell me of his brain. Any abnormal development 
usually signifies the verging on the borderland of 
insanity. Have you observed in him any marked 
eccentricities ? ” 

“ None whatever,” I retorted. 

“Well, don’t get annoyed about it. The line of 
demarcation between genius and idiocy is very slight. 
Butterby, for instance, I am told, is a genius in his way, 
and yet at times I question his sanity. As I said before, 
this Mr. Inderwick seems a unique creation. Now, is 
he good ? or, I should say, has he any vices ? ” 

“ He doesn’t drink, if that is what you mean.” 

“ You don’t think he would beat or kick his wife ? ” 

“ I’m convinced he wouldn’t,” I replied chillingly. 
Aunt Menelophe laughed. “ Does he swear ? ” 

I hesitated, and she laughed again. 

“ A little,” I confessed; “ in fact, a good deal when he 
is put out.” 


[ 285 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“That is not peculiar to him. It is when they are 
put out that men do swear. Have you corrected him 
for this bad habit ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And has he improved ? ” 

“ He did not appear to hear me.” 

“ More and more I am attracted toward him. If you 
do not think me presumptuous, do you mind giving 
me your reason for refusing him, now that I know all 
about him?” She drew her chair nearer to the fire. 
I did not speak. “Perhaps you would rather not tell 
me ? ” she said gently. 

“It is not that. I don’t mind; but it is difficult to 
put into words, and you will think me so small.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” she protested. “ A girl either does 
or does not want to marry a man. A hair’s-breadth 
may settle it one way or the other — a look, an expres- 
sion, a word, a touch, a thought.” 

“It’s his clothes — ^his ties and boots,” I murmured 
in a shamefaced manner. “It may seem petty and 
ridiculous to you; but he is so untidy. He has worn 
the same old cap for months, and his coat — a Norfolk 
jacket — is green with age. He even wears it at church 
sometimes, and it is all wrinkly and out of shape. And 
he looks so nice when he is well dressed. You should 
have seen him at Mrs. Moss’s party in his dress clothes. 
He looked almost distinguished, though his tie was 
round at the back of his neck most of the evening. And 
he never seems to know that his shirt-cuffs are frayed, 
[ 286 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and the day he proposed to me the inside of his tie was 
coming out.” 

I paused, for Aunt Menelophe was laughing. She 
signalled to me to stop, and then, quickly recovering 
herself, motioned me to go on, but I wouldn’t. 

“You are laughing at me again,” I said, “and I 
don’t vronder. It does sound small and ridiculous. 
Let us talk of something else. I have already said too 
much. You cannot understand; you are too broad- 
minded, too above such littleness, too ” 

“Hazel Wycherley, if you say another word I shall 
slap you,” she broke in. “Haven’t I told you I am 
completely sympathetic with you? If a man had pro- 
posed to me when wearing such a tie I should — well, 
I should have told him to put on another, and then 
come back to me. A man has no right to go round 
proposing to nice girls, looking like a rag-picker. But 
it is your face which upsets me. Do you know that you 
had such a worried expression on that one small face of 
yours that, had I not laughed, I should have been 
bound to weep out of sheer sympathy. The whole of 
the cares and troubles of the world lay in your eyes as 
you spoke of that tie, and I can quite enter into your 
feelings. It is just these small things which irritate 
and disillusion a girl. She likes, and quite naturally, 
that her lover or husband should be smart and spick 
and span — not efiPeminate or foppish, but to be well 
shaved, well set up, and clean.” 

“ He is not dirty,” I said. 

[ 287 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Her lips twitched. 

“ I was under the impression you said he was.” 

“ You are mistaken. I said his clothes were old and 
shabby; but his linen — his collars and shirts — are 
scrupulously clean, and he shaves, and I know he has 
a bath every ” 

I stopped in confusion, for Aunt Menelophe had 
retired behind a small fire-screen she was holding, and 
her body was undulating gently. 

“ Well ? ” she said in smothered accents. “ The fire 
is burning my face. I am listening, go on.” 

“That is all,” I said loftily. “I am tired of the 
subject.” 

She dropped the screen. 

“Come and kiss me, child,” she commanded, “at 
once.” 

I rose and did her bidding. She stroked my cheek 
for a moment or two. 

“What a hot-tempered, touchy little girl it is,” she 
said at length. “ Do you fly out at Mr. Inderwick like 
this ? I wonder he had the courage to say anything to 
you. Those big men are often so shy.” 

I felt a little ashamed, but I made no reply. I was 
not going to be drawn further. 

“ Is he shy ? ” she asked softly. 

“No,” I answered. 

“Well, then, I expect he is cheeky?” 

“ Perhaps.” 

She laughed. 

[ 288 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Aren’t you going to forgive me?” she asked. “I 
never meant to laugh, but — ^your describing his 
baths ” 

“I did not,” I broke in hotly. “It was only when 
you implied he was dirty. Rose, our housemaid — she 
is the daughter of old Crabby’s cowman — it was she 
who told me. One cannot help hearing the village 
gossip.” 

“Of course not,” said Aunt Menelophe. “Besides, 
such interesting information! What an extraordinary 
place Heatherland must be! Haven’t the people any 
occupation ? ” 

“Not much.” 

“How bad for them! So they discuss people’s 
bathing ? ” 

“They discuss everything. They know how many 
clean changes of linen we have a week, and that Angela 
wears her flannel petticoats ten days because of the 
shrinking. They know how many pounds of butter 
we consume in seven days, and that we have three- 
pennyworth of cream every Sunday to eat with our 
fruit tart at dinner. The fact that Mr. Inderwick had 
accompanied me on a walk one day was buzzed round 
the entire village within twenty-four hours. And 
Sammy — Sammy — our old gardener — actually told me 
lately that I had every appearance of wanting to mate 
— those were his very words — that the villagers had 
noticed it, had seen it in my face, that I looked ‘pale 
and peaky-like.’ Wasn’t it horrible ? Can you wonder 
19 [ 289 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


at — ^at my refusing Robert Inderwick? They would 
say all sorts of dreadful things — that I had set my cap 
at him, that I had run after him, courted him, flattered 
him. Mrs. Oates would turn up the whites of her eyes, 
and her elastic-sided boots in, and say girls behaved 
very differently in her day ; that then they were retiring 
and maidenly. She would have us believe she was a 
drooping, modest-sort-of-violet girl, with a heaving 
bosom and labored breath, and we, knowing her, can’t; 

one’s credulity can be taxed too far ” 

I paused for breath. 

“So it is not the shabby clothes and disreputable 
tie and knotted bootlaces only’^ interrupted Aunt 
Menelophe; “it is the world’s opinion, the little world 
of Heatherland! I should have thought you would 
have been above that. You care what Mrs. Oates says. 
You are going to refuse happiness because of an elastic- 
sided-booted woman in a village. You are going to 
cast away the best thing life has to offer you.” 

“ But I’m not,” and I stamped my foot. “ Don’t I 
tell you I don’t love the man.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

I sat down wearily on the hearthrug. 

“ Aunt Menelophe, haven’t I just been telling you 
for the last quarter of an hour ? Haven’t you listened ? ” 
“ I have listened. But you have not made your case 
out to my satisfaction. You say you don’t love Mr. 
Inderwick because he is shabby and untidy.” 

“I didn’t say that,” I contradicted. “I said it 
[ 290 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


proved I had no real affection for him, or such external 
trivialities would not affect me.” 

“But that is where I differ from you. I think it is 
because you do care for him that these little matters 
worry you. They would me if I loved a man.” 

I shook my head. 

“ But my heart never beats suffocatingly, and I don’t 
thrill all over as do girls in love in books when the hero 
goes near them.” 

Aunt Menelophe made a gesture of contempt. 

“You talk like an infant,” she said. “You don’t 
understand, and if I explain to you, you will still prob- 
ably not understand. Perhaps I am silly to try, but 
really you are so — so foolish. Now listen. That which 
is known as love is made up or composed of many 
elements. If I were a chemist I should probably have 
the correct names of these elements at my finger ends, 
but I’m not. I am just going to divide love up roughly 
into two sections — the spiritual or mental, and the 
physical or emotional. A man’s love, as a rule, cer- 
tainly pertains more to the latter. I do not say that 
it is any better or worse for that, it has nothing to do 
with the question; he loves in the way that Nature 
intended him to love. But a woman, on the other 
hand, loves more often with the mental side of her being 
than the physical; and it is better so, it is Nature’s 
safeguard. Besides, I think such love in a woman is 
more enduring, more lasting. I don’t admire your 
southern type of woman who thrills and jumps, and 
[291/ 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


has flashing eyes, and a stiletto concealed up her sleeve. 
Her love is passionate and all-absorbing at the moment, 
but does it last.^^ You won’t understand, you are 
too young, but believe me that the thrills and heart 
jumps and suffocating sensations — the lack of which 
you complain about in regard to your feelings to- 
ward Mr. Inderwick — are the very least important 
qualifications necessary in the composition of a love 
which is beautiful and steadfast and enduring. What 
you have to ask yourself when in doubt is, ‘Does 
this man bore me ? Does he tire me ? Does he 
irritate me? Do I respect him? Can I look up to 
him as I trust he will look up to me? Shall I be 
ashamed of him? And, above all, does the mere 
fact of his presence bring me complete contentment ? ’ 
If it doesn’t you are right in saying ‘ No.’ ” 

“But it does — I think,” I stammered. 

“Well, then, why in the name of fortune have 
you sent him about his business ? ” she snapped. “ I 
cannot believe that because of his ties and Mrs. 
Oates’s chatter and a scarcity of dynamite sensa- 
tions on your part you would send such a nice man 
away.” 

“But I thought you said a few moments ago you 
sympathized with me, and that a hair’s-breadth 
would turn the scale of a girl’s affection ? ” 

“ I was referring to foolish, empty-headed girls. 
I gave you credit for more sense.” 

“Aunt Menelophe, why are you so keen on my 
[ 292 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


getting married?” I asked. “Now if you were a 
mother with five plain daughters ” 

“ Don’t be impertinent,” she said, tweaking my 
ear. “I don’t want you to make a muddle of your 
life. I muddled mine, and I somehow feel you are 
going to muddle yours. I am convinced that you 
like this Inderwick man.” 

“And I’m convinced of this, that whether I love 
him or whether I don’t, I’m not going to recall him. 
So there!” 

“You are a pig-headed, obstinate minx,” she re- 
marked; “and if you were my daughter I would 
keep you on bread and water for a week. But here 
comes Butterby; he will probably ask you to give 
him back that beetle, he has talked of nothing else 
since you w^ent.” 

I laughed and hugged her, and wondered if she 
were right and I wrong. Was I going to make a 
muddle of my life ? Time would show. 


[ 293 ] 


CHAPTER XXII 


I Am Confronted with Another Perplexing Situation 



lOUSIN WELLESLEY and Mr. Escourt have 


been here for thirteen and a half days, and 
since the particular Tuesday on which they 


arrived I have felt exactly like a railway train, full 
steam up, flying along at an express speed of sixty 
miles a minute, going whither I know not, and not 
daring to pause to think. 

Is there no friendly signalman at hand to pull a 
lever and turn me on to the right track? For I 
can see two tracks ahead of me, and I don’t know 
which to take. I am tired and frightened and full 
of apprehension. I want to slow down, to put on 
the brake, to turn off steam, and some force outside 
myself seems to be urging and propelling me along. 
It is only a few weeks since I felt like a thousand- 
year-old toad, a weary, lethargic toad, and now to 
be experiencing the sensations of an express train! 
It is a little rough on a girl. 

“There is a Divinity that doth shape our ends,* 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and I imagined this shaping would be carried on 
quietly and methodically by gentle, easy stages. I 
never dreamed that I should be hustled and bustled 
in this insistent fashion, with a clamoring in my 
ears of “Make up your mind, take it or leave 
it, but don’t vacillate.” It is so ridiculous to say 
“don’t vacillate” in that peremptory manner when 
such an important issue is at stake, when one false 
step may make or mar a life’s happiness — nay, two 
lives. 

Now if mother were here she would say, “Pray 
over it. Ask to be guided aright.” I have known 
her to take a wet wash day to God, and then with 
eyes of faith sit and watch a rift in the clouds; and 
I believe I should follow her advice if God were a 
woman — a woman might understand. I could say 
to Mary, had I been brought up in another faith, 
“Oh, Holy Mother, I am in a dire fix. Here are 
two men wanting to marry me, and I don’t know 
which of the two I love. 

“ One, Robert Inderwick, I admire and respect 
because I know him to be good, and he* would be 
good to me. He is slow-going, but would be faith- 
ful. He is careless of appearances, but in heart and 
mind a gentleman. He is downright in thought, 
speech, and action, but gentle and tolerant toward 
the wobbly ones of this world. He is rugged and 
somewhat ugly, and wears coats of an aged aspect, 
calling to mind the gnarled, greeny boles of primeval 
[ 295 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


forest trees, but his muscles are of abnormal devel- 
opment, and would do away with the necessity of 
keeping a watch-dog on the premises. His ties are 
compassed about with cotton wool and thin places, 
and his bootlaces are full of knots, but his rare smile 
is better than the sun coming from behind a cloud 
on a dull winter’s day. 

“The other, Eustace Escourt, is the exact an- 
tithesis. He is brilliant and handsome, quick of 
speech, lithe and graceful, and faultlessly attired. 
His elegant patent boots contain trees and not hu- 
man feet, and one can imagine that his trousers 
draw long breaths of relief at being released from 
the confining environment of a heavy mattress or 
the rack of a wire-stretcher. In thirteen days I 
have seen him in as many ties. He always seems 
to wear the right thing in the right place in the 
right way. He is the type of man who would make 
a good bridegroom. Then his conversation is a re- 
velation — it bewilders you. He says clever, strange 
things which seem to have quite half a dozen mean- 
ings, and he appears to take it for granted that you 
have grasped the lot in all their subtle entirety when 
you are hopelessly floundering about after one. 

“I sit by him at dinner, and by the end of the 
meal I am in amazed and dazed condition. I feel 
as though I had been in for an examination — my 
matriculation — or something equally horrible, and 
had just scraped through by the skin of my teeth, 
[ 296 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and, with a little gasp, I fall all of a flabby heap on 
to the drawing-room couch and fan two hectic spots 
on my cheeks while sedulously endeavoring to evade 
Aunt Menelophe’s glance. And yet he fascinates 
me — fascinates me. So, Holy Mother, help me if 
you can. Help me to choose between these two men, 
and so give me peace.” 

From the moment Eustace Escourt entered this 
house he has devoted himself absolutely to me, 
talked to me, walked with me, read to me, monop- 
olized me. I have steeled myself against him a 
dozen times a day. I have reminded myself that 
I was the only girl in the house, and therefore it was 
quite natural that he should prefer my society to 
Butterby and his moths, or to Wellesley — whose 
temper is irritable after influenza, and who at present 
spends his time in being “ picked up ” by invalid deli- 
cacies, and playing ecarte with Aunt Menelophe. 

I have said to myself, “If there were another girl 
about the place you would go to the wall at once 
or if Aunt Menelophe were twenty years younger 
and able to play golf and go for long walks you would 
be completely left out in the cold, so show a little 
pride and independence, and don’t dance to his piping. 
He is only playing with you — amusing himself. He 
once said you were a little country girl, by which he 
meant a gauche, unsophisticated, bumpkinish sort 
of creature, to be drawn out and dissected for want 
of something better to do.” So I have said firmly 
[ 297 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

that I don’t play golf, and have started off on a walk 
to think of — Robert, and within ten minutes I am 
receiving my first lesson in putting and driving. I 
have refused curtly to take any interest in Browning, 
and five minutes later I am listening eagerly to his 
beautiful rendering of “Pippa Passes.” By storm, 
stress, and steam I have been whirled along, resisting 
yet yielding, fighting yet fascinated, drinking in all 
that he has told me of books, places, people, of that 
wonderful life in town — life lived to the uttermost; 
and now when I want to sit down and think calmly, 
dispassionately, weigh things up, commune with my 
heart, debate with my reason, look into the years 
to come, a voice keeps whispering, whispering into 
my ear — confusing me, perplexing me, alluring me 
with its seductiveness — “You, too, shall live this 
life, you shall know people, you shall meet brilliant 
men and women. You will no longer stagnate, you 
will no longer dwell like a rabbit in a hutch, a cow 
in a stall, a potato in a field, vegetating, rusting, 
drifting into a rustiness and commonplaceness which 
are worse than death. You will see great pictures 
and hear divine music. You will have your own 
salon and wear beautiful gowns. You are clever — 
you shall be educated ; you are beautiful — your 
beauty shall be adorned; you are good, though that 
matters the least of all, and you shall learn that 
goodness and virtue are possible without the tiresome 
and old-fashioned restrictions of dogma and creed. 

[298 3 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


You shall travel and see many strange and interest- 
ing places; there is nothing, in reason, that you shall 
not do; and — ^you shall live every moment of your 
life.” 

Was ever a poor, weak girl more grievously tempted 
— a girl who believes in the old-fashioned theory 
of love, but who wants all these other things as well ? 

And he spoke so beautifully and looked so hand- 
some. There was only one little jarring note — 
that about goodness mattering the least of all. I 
am not good, I am not religious, but somehow those 
words hurt. I think if I were a man I should like 
a woman to be good. 

The dressing-bell has gone — Aunt Menelophe’s 
maid has put out my white frock in readiness — it 
took all the money out of two of mother’s tin boxes 
and one purse to pay for that frock. Dear, kind 
old mother! When — I mean if ever I should become 
rich, mother shall have her twelve drawing-room 
chairs covered with pink silk damask — she doesn’t 
approve of new-fangled tapestries — and the sofa 
and two easy-chairs shall also be covered, and they 
shall all have white chintz (with little pink flowers) 
covers to wear in summer, and so preserve the pink 
damask from fading, and dear mother will be happy. 

I must hurry. In less than three-quarters of an 
hour I shall meet Eustace at dinner. He will crack 
me my walnuts, and he will talk to me. Breath- 
lessly I shall follow him into that wonderful world 
[ 299 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


of his, and he will touch lightly upon science and 
religion and evolution, and things I had never so 
much as heard of till a fortnight ago; and he will 
give expression to thoughts and ideas which would 
cause mother and Angela to regard him in the light 
of an Antichrist, and fall upon their knees in prayer. 

And then — afterward — I have promised to meet 
him in the library and give him my answer. Butterby 
interrupted us this afternoon ; Butterby gave me 
this blessed hour of respite. He came in to borrow 
the beetle; I know I shall never see it again. 

“By all means, dear Butterby; I will go for it,” 
I said. 

Eustace caught me as I was slipping out of the 
room. 

“Come here to-night after dinner,” he whispered. 

I nodded. I was afraid Butterby might hear him; 
but he was engrossed in a picture of British moths 
which hung upon the wall, and which is an ever- 
lasting source of interest to that extraordinary young 
man. 

And what am I going to say? What is to be 
my answer? The voice keeps on clamorously, per- 
sistently: “Make up your mind. For Heaven’s 
sake cease vacillating and wobbling. You are old 
enough to make your own decision.” Then another 
voice breaks in enticingly: “You shall live every 
moment of your life; you shall cease to vegetate, 
rust, drift into commonplaceness, if you will consent 
[ 300 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


to come with me.” And now a third comes along: 
“I have offered you all I have, Hazel. It may not 
be very much, but there it is. . . . My love for you 
could not be measured by any ordinary standard 
of cubic feet or inches; it is too big, but you refuse 
it all.” 

Ah me ! Why was I born a woman ? 


[ 301 ] 


CHAPTER XXIII 


I Make My Decision^ and Am Not Altogether Happy 

I AM engaged to Eustace Escourt. I have prom- 
ised to marry him this coming summer. To 
marry! As I write the words it seems to me 
that the earth ought to cease revolving, the sun stand 
still, and the waters be dried up; but none of them 
do anything of the kind, and I heard Aunt Menelophe 
order a suet pudding for the servants’ dinner in a 
most every-day tone of voice. It gave me quite a 
shock; I almost remonstrated with her. To think 
that a newly engaged couple should be sheltered 
by the same roof as a common, lumpy suet pudding! 
Aunt Menelophe was altogether very matter-of-fact 
in her manner this morning. The only reference 
she made to my engagement was to remark that 
marriage usually led to dulness, frequently to disaster, 
and once in a blue moon to delight, which I thought 
she might have left unsaid, and with which sentiments 
I do not in the least agree. Still, I cannot help 
wondering to which mine will lead. Of one thing I 
am assured — it won’t be dulness. Eustace is not a 
[ 302 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


dull person, neither from all accounts is London a 
dull place; and at the worst, should such a sen- 
sation overtake me, I could pick a quarrel with some 
one — just a small quarrel that wouldn’t matter much 
— and ennui would straightway be banished to the 
four quarters of the globe. I have ever found it a 
safe rule to go by, “When dulness descends revert 
to gentle quarrelling.” 

Disaster I put from me; it is an ugly-sounding 
word. So delight only is left. 0/ course I am going 
to be happy. What is there to prevent it? Why 
shouldn’t I be as happy as any other girl ? I 
— ^but there! I won’t. I will not begin that self- 
analysis and examination and heart-searching which 
kept me awake half the night, causing Butterby 
at breakfast to tell me I looked like a boiled owl, 
which was anything but kind and cousinly of him. 
Eustace is — is everything that a sensible girl ought 
to want to marry. He made me realize this last 
night in less than ten minutes after joining him. I 
went to the library fully determined to say “No,” 
and I left him after agreeing that June would be the 
most perfect of all months for our wedding. 

How beautifully he talked! I wish I could re- 
member half the things he said. He spoke of love 
in an abstract, impersonal kind of way, and read a 
wonderfully beautiful passage out of a book — I 
forget the name of it; and he never once asked me 
if I loved him, for which I am most grateful. It 
[ 303 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


seems so material to touch upon one’s own earthly 
affections when your soul is uplifted, and you are car- 
ried out of yourself by the glowing and impassioned 
thought and language of a passage almost inspired. 

Aunt Menelophe came into the room just as we 
were — finishing our talk. She stood and stared at 
us as though she had discovered some new species. 

“So this is what you are up to!” she remarked. 

A schoolmaster, on the track of small boys stealing 
apples, would probably adopt the same tone on 
running them to earth. 

Eustace arose and offered her a chair. His man- 
ners are perfect. 

“Yes,” he said, smiling, “this is what we are up 
to, Mrs. Menzies. I have just asked your niece to 
by my wife, and I trust that I have your sympathy 
and approval in so doing.” 

“ Have you accepted him ? ” 

She turned on me with a pounce. 

I nodded. 

“God bless my soul!” she ejaculated, and there 
did not seem to be anything suitable by way of reply. 
“Well,” she went on, “Eustace Escourt, you have 
not lost much time. You are what I should describe 
as a fairly rapid young man.” 

“I invariably make my decisions with a certain 
degree of rapidity, Mrs. Menzies. Men are unlike 
women in that respect.” 

She gave a little snort. 

[ 304 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


‘‘Women look before they leap.” 

“Are you implying that I have neglected to do 
so, for it sounds a little — a little rude to Miss Wycher- 
ley ? Believe me I have considered the question 
carefully, and have every confidence in the future.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of you,” Aunt Menelophe 
retorted somewhat discourteously. “ You’re all right. 
It was Hazel I was worried about.” 

“Indeed!” He smiled, but there was that drawl 
in his voice which is always to be heard when he is 
in any way moved. 

“She is young and impetuous, and she has only 
known you for a fortnight. I had no idea this was 
going on.” 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Menzies, but you must be a 
little shortsighted. I should have thought the least 
observant would have noticed the marked attentions 
I was paying your niece. I am extremely sorry that 
you should feel I have stolen a march upon you.” 

“Of course you paid her attention, she is an 
attractive girl,” snapped Aunt Menelophe; but — 
I have always understood from Wellesley that you 
were not a marrying man.” 

“ Neither was I till I met Miss Wycherley.” There 
was a studied calmness about him which made me 
feel nervous. “You should not have put temptation 
in my way.” 

“I didn’t,” she contradicted; “it was just an 
accident.” 


20 


[ 305 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Well, at any rate,” he persisted, “now that 
Hazel has consented to be my wife, I hope you have 
no objection. You have known me for many years; 
my income is good, my reputation, I trust, is good; 
my position will enable me to keep a wife in comfort 
if not in luxury. May I venture to hope that we 
have your congratulations ? ” 

“Oh, yes, you have.” 

There was just the faintest emphasis on the pronoun 
which made me look fearfully at Eustace, but he did 
not appear to notice it. 

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “Now I feel 
more comfortable. You have not been too encourag- 
ing, Mrs. Menzies.” 

“She knows nothing of your world. I have not 
wished to be unsympathetic, but she has been brought 
up simply.” 

“ That is what makes her so attractive,” he replied. 

“I hope you are not forgetting I am here,” I sug- 
gested quietly. 

They laughed, and Aunt Menelophe rose. 

“Come to my room by and by,” she said; “I want 
to talk to you. And Eustace,” turning to him, “I 
suppose you are going to see Hazel’s mother ? ” 

“ Certainly, but I shall be obliged to run up to town 
first on business; then I hope to go to Heatherland 
and make Mrs. Wycherley’s acquaintance.” 

My heart gave a jump as he said this. He was 
going to Heatherland, and — Robert would know. 

[ 306 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Need you go to see mother?'* I asked nervously. 
“I think I would like our engagement to be kept 
quiet for two or three months. You see, I might — 
I might not know my own mind, as Aunt Menelophe 
says. I might wish to break off our engagement. 
Of course, I have no intention of doing anything of 
the kind, but — well, one never knows.*’ 

He looked at me in surprise — almost in displeasure. 

“ That is rather an extraordinary thing to say 
to a man to whom you have been engaged exactly 
half an hour.” 

“Of course I’m only in fun,” I said, laughing. 
‘ You must try to understand when I’m joking.” 

“I don’t care for that sort of joke, little girl,” 
he said, drawing me to him. 

I eluded his embrace; somehow I didn’t feel like 
that. 

“I must go to Aunt Menelophe,” I murmured. 
“She will be waiting for me. Good-night,” and in 
Cl twinkling I was across the hall and up the staircase. 

“I don’t think you were very land to Eustace, 
Aunt Menelophe,” I said, as I entered her room. 

Her reply was to motion me to a low chair in front 
of the fire and hand me a cup of cocoa which she 
had just made on her httle spirit stove. I accepted 
both with gratitude. My cheeks were burning and 
my hands and feet were icy. Getting engaged is 
rather agitating work. She watched me drink the 
cocoa, then she rang for her maid. 

[807 3 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


'‘Parkins, bring Miss Wycherley’s dressing-gown, 
comb and brush, and woolly shoes,” she commanded. 

“ How did you know my head ached ? ” I asked 
a little wearily, as she passed me her salts and some 
Florida water. 

“ Emotional people’s heads always ache when 
they shouldn’t and it is necessary for them to keep 
their wits about them,” she replied. 

“Are you suggesting that mine have been wander- 
ing?” 

“By no means. Have you not just landed a man 
with five thousand a year?” 

I sprang to my feet. 

“ Aunt Menelophe, I did not think you would 
have said that to me. Good-night.” 

I nearly knocked Parkins over as I bounced toward 
the door. 

“ Sit down. Hazel,” said Aunt Menelophe im- 
peratively. “ Don’t be ridiculous. Parkins, take 
Miss Wycherley’s hair down and brush it for a few 
minutes, and then you can go. Miss Wycherley is 
tired and overwrought, and wants soothing.” 

“Yes, m’m,” said Parkins, regarding me as though 
I were some wild animal at the Zoo. 

I fretted and fumed as she fumbled about for the 
hairpins and stuck her cold fingers into the nape of 
my neck; but when she once got to work with the 
brush, the sensation was rather pleasant and soothing 
than otherwise. 


[ 308 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Your ’air is very thick and long, miss.” 

“Yes,” I replied; “I know all about it. Parkins.” 

“You find it troublesome to manage sometimes, 
miss.” 

“Very, Parkins. I have been on the point of 
chopping it off at least a dozen times.” 

I could feel her horrified countenance through the 
back of my head. 

“ There is a bit of a tangle here, miss,” was her next 
cheering communication. 

“I am all of a tangle. Parkins. Your information 
does not surprise me.” 

“Indeed, miss!” 

“Yes,” and I heaved a deep sigh. 

“ Shall I try and get it out, miss ? It won’t hurt you.” 

“But it does,” I said with a yell, and Parkins 
shot to the other side of the room. 

“That will do,” said Aunt Menelophe; “you can 
go now,” and Parkins went, casting furtive looks 
behind her. 

“I will see what I can do,” said Aunt Menelophe, 
taking up the comb and brush, and I was instantly 
transported to heaven. Her touch was as balm in 
Gilead, and it felt as though, with exquisitely gentle 
fingers, each of my jangled, tired nerves was smoothed 
out and set at rest. 

“How delicious!” I murmured. “I will forgive 
you everything. Aunt Menelophe.” 

She laughed. 


[ 309 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Thanks,” she said dryly. “I was unaware that 
my behavior called for such magnanimity on your 
part.” 

“After such a remark to which you gave utterance 
not ten minutes since ? ” 

“I was merely voicing what will be the sentiments 
of the world when your engagement is made known. 
I may say at once that I do not participate in them. 
My opinion of you is somewhat better.” 

“The world is rarely kind to a woman, it would 
seem.” 

“I don’t know,” answered Aunt Menelophe. “It 
is often a source of surprise to me how very decent 
the world is to women; for some of them are fluffy 
bits of inanity, and they are forever hankering after 
something they can’t get. It frequently puzzles me 
to know what they do want; I don’t think they 
know themselves. They indulge in huge aspirations 
and longings for something outside their environ- 
ment. They say they feel like skylarks cramped in 
a small cage, and want to stretch their wings and 
fly; and they talk of liberty and life with a big L, 
and hanker after congenial work. Now if the whole 
truth were known, I am of the opinion they don’t 
want to work at all. They are idle, and anxious to 
dodge the few duties of home life. What they want 
are husbands and a good time generally. It is quite 
remarkable when women do find their congenial 
work how quickly they tire of it, and then they cry 
[ 310 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


out their strength is not sufficient to stand it. Women 
are such humbugs!” 

“ But don’t you think any of them are in earnest ? ” 

“ A few here and there — ^the really plain ones 
and the really clever ones,” she replied, as she put 
down the brush and comb and drew up a chair to the 
fire. 

“Are not you a little hard on them?” I asked. 

Her face became soft and tender at once. 

“I don’t mean to be. I am really very sorry for 
women, not for the upper and middle classes — they 
have a pretty good time on the whole — but the poor 
working women. My heart aches for them. What 
lives they lead! But I did not invite you up here for 
a psychological discussion on the relative positions 
of women in the world. I want to speak of the affairs 
of the heart of one particular girl I know. I am 
glad you have found such a ready solution to your 
difficulties; I am glad you have found — ^love.” 

“Thanks,” I said. 

She looked at me quickly. 

“ You must feel so thankful that your heart dictated 
to you aright in prompting you to refuse Robert 
Inderwick. You might have been carried away 
by his sincere love for you. Girls are tender-hearted 
creatures. Your instincts were admirable; the shabby 
ties have not played you false. You should sing 
a Te Deum out of gratitude. Happiness lies before 
you — love and place and power. You cannot fail 
[ 311 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


to be blissful with these three, and the greatest of 
these is love.” 

My mouth became dry. 

“You did not sound so pleased about it down- 
stairs, Aunt Menelophe. In fact, as I remarked 
before, I think you were almost discourteous to 
Eustace.” 

“I was taken by surprise. I felt annoyed at my 
own blindness and want of perspicacity. No woman 
enjoys having it brought home to her that her dense- 
ness, especially in the matter of a love affair, has been 
colossal. Here was I taking it that you were really 
deeply attached to this Inderwick, and there were 
you falling violently in love with my guest.” 

I shuffled. Aunt Menelophe could be intensely 
irritating on occasions. 

“I am tired,” I said; “I think I will go to bed.” 

She kissed me warmly. 

“Good -night, dear child; needless to tell you to 
sleep well. It is sorrow and anxiety that keep people 
awake.” 

And I never closed my eyes the whole blessed 
night. 


[ 312 ] 


CHAPTER XXIV 


I Have Some Little Differences with Eustace 



USTACE has returned from London. I had 


no time to miss him, as Aunt Menelophe 


insisted upon my writing to tell mother of my 
engagement, and it took me exactly two days to 
do this. The waste-paper basket bulged and over- 
flowed at the end of the first day. How could I 
make her comprehend that I felt I knew and under- 
stood a man sufficiently in less than fourteen days 
to undertake to marry him. Mother is old-fashioned. 
She believes in a man speaking first to the parents, 
and then courting the daughter in a back-parlor 
sort of way. I don’t think for a moment father did 
anything of the kind. Mother will tell you all about 
her acquaintance with him — up to a certain point, 
and then she becomes reserved. 

As I sit writing I occasionally pause, and neg- 
ligently pass my left hand over my hair. In the 
mirror opposite I can see what appears to be like 
unto a huge dewdrop of great brilliancy, sparkling 
and flashing in the sunshine. 


[ 313 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


It seems incredible that this wondrous jewel should 
belong to me, who still own and wear (certainly un- 
der compulsion) an exceeding ancient, brown stuff 
frock which has seen many summers, and at the 
moment hangs in my wardrobe at home in readiness 
for the spring-cleaning. But it will be for the last 
time. No more spring-cleanings and ugly brown 
frocks, but salons and Liberty gowns — for did he 
not say I should have a salon and wear beautiful 
dresses ? 

To be strictly truthful, I don’t think I should care 
to undertake a salon. I was under the impression 
such things were only held by radiantly beautiful or 
wonderfully brilliant women, who gathered around 
them, as flies after a jam-pot, ambassadors and cabinet 
ministers, and from whom they extracted diplomatic 
and political state secrets of great importance, such 
as: The alliance of the South Sea Islands and the 
North Pole with Germany; or that a discovery had 
been made of the King’s intrigue with the Duke 
of Buckingham’s chambermaid, and that the Duke 
was levying blackmail upon the King, thereby render- 
ing the latter exceedingly unhappy. Then I suppose 
there are the literary and artistic salons held by 
emaciated, green-robed women, looking like so many 
garden leeks touched by a frost. I wonder which 
Eustace would wish me to queen — a political, artistic 
or literary. I don’t like the sound of any. I think 
I shall refuse a salon altogether. I want to enjoy 
[ 314 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


life; but I must go carefully, for I find Eustace just 
the tiniest bit “diflScult.” I know it is my fault: I 
have always been sensitive, and it troubles me to 
think we have already had two little quar — differ- 
ences. But he laughed when I said so, and quoted 
something about “O blessings on the falling out,” 
which did not comfort me in the least. 

Our first words were about the ring. It is really 
magnificent, and I felt he would say something beau- 
tiful and appropriate as he slipped it on to my finger, 
and it came somewhat as a shock when he remarked 
how brown my hand was, that there was no mistake 
about my living in the country, and I must see what 
could be achieved with a good toilet cream. 

I felt myself stiffen, and unbidden the thought 
came to me that Robert would not have said that; 
but I thrust it from me — this was not the moment 
to think of another man. After all, it was absurd 
to expect your lover to think you perfect. 

“I am sorry you disapprove of brown hands,” I 
remarked tentatively, “because I never wear gloves 
in summer. It would be dreadful not to be able to 
crumble the warm, brown earth with your bare fingers, 
or allow the hot, yellow sand on the shore to trickle 
through them, or dabble them in the little, cool streams, 
or gather flowers. Surely you agree with me it would 
be a desecration to pick little velvety, soft-cheeked, 
wild flowers wearing stuffy kid gloves?” 

“Oh, well, you won’t be able to indulge in those 
delights in town.” 


[ 315 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

He spoke quite gently and kindly, but I under- 
stood that he meant my hands were to grow white 
somehow, and my heart sank at the prospect. 

“We shan’t always live in town, shall we?” I 
asked. 

“The greater part of the year. I am not happy 
away from London. But we shall go abroad — to 
the Riviera and places where people do go, but no- 
where where you will be free to make your mud pies,” 
and he laughed. 

“ And won’t you ever go to a quiet place, where 
we can poke about and find lovely things?” 

“ What kind of things ? ” he questioned. 

“Oh, beautiful growing things in the fields and 
hedges, little roots and ferns and flowers — the banks 
teem with them; and the pools are full of dear little 
water-beetles and long-legged flies which shoot about 
in ridiculous fashion; and there are the fish which 
rise to the surface on warm, sunny afternoons and 
lie on their backs and bask in the shallows; and 
nests in the spring — have you ever seen a wren’s nest ? 
It is a miracle of mossy cosiness. You sally forth 
in search of one on a sunny, springy, clear afternoon, 
when the white clouds are very high up, and all the 
hedges and tree-tops are flushed with a delicious, 
tender green, and you ” 

I came to a dead stop, for Eustace was actually 
drumming on the window-pane. 

“You are very enthusiastic,” he said. “I had 
no idea you were so poetical.” 

[ 316 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


There was a suppressed amusement in his tone 
which irritated me. I did not laugh at him when 
he raved about Browning. 

‘‘That is not poetry,” I answered with a flash; 
“that is. Nature.” 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“ What is the difference ? ” 

“ The difference is ” I hesitated. “ Why, 

poetry is the art of expressing in beautiful language 
a beautiful idea, and Nature is a beautiful reality — 
the outcome of the imagination of God.” 

“Indeed! I am learning something. And which 
of the two do you prefer?” 

“Why Nature of course,” I replied, now feeling 
sure of my ground. “Don’t you?” 

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I do. Nature is 
frequently most unsatisfactory, but true poetry never 
is.” 

“But surely you would prefer sitting on a gate 
listening to the song of a lark than to Shelley’s ode 
to it?” 

“It would depend on the gate and the day. Sky- 
larks, I believe, are at their best in March and April, 
when the wind invariably cuts you to pieces.” 

I laughed. 

“ But their music is glorious,” I said. 

“That may be so, but Shelley’s language is an 
inspiration. The beauty of his language surpasses, 
to my thinking, the beauty of the note of any bird.” 

E317] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I shook my head. 

“You are wrong,” I said emphatically. 

To my great surprise, his face darkened. 

“These are early days to be putting me right,” 
he retorted with a light laugh. “I am not to have 
so plastic a pupil as I expected — eh, little girl?” 

“ Indeed, I never meant or wished to put you right,” 
I said vehemently. “I am not clever enough; you 
know that. You are always sounding the depths of 
my ignorance, and — and I cannot make out, under 
the circumstances, why you should wish to marry 
me.” 

“That is the very reason I do want to marry you. 
You are what I have been — unconsciously — searching 
for: someone fresh and unprejudiced and malleable, 
and here I find you with quite pronounced views.” 

“What does malleable mean?” I asked, ignoring 
the latter part of his remark. 

“It means something soft and yielding and pliable, 
or hterally that which may be beaten out by a ham- 
mer.” 

“I don’t think I want to be malleable,” I said, 
laughing. 

“It is preferable to being opinionated and dog- 
matic,” he answered. 

“ You like backboneless jelly-fish ? ” 

He smiled, showing his white, even teeth. 

“If you like to put it that way; but I think it 
would be more picturesque to say that I like my little 
[ 318 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


girl to be soft and sweet, and young and open to 
conviction.” 

I, too, began to drum on the window-pane. Then 
the funny side of it struck me; to imagine myself 
soft and sweet and yielding was more than I could 
stand, and I began to chuckle softly. 

He looked at me in displeasure, and my chuckle 
broke into a laugh. He frowned and took up a 
newspaper, and, seating himself in an armchair, 
began to read. The winter sunshine, streaming 
through the window, played amongst his neat, well- 
brushed hair, and on to his white, shiny collar. It 
struck me that he was really exceedingly good-looking, 
and the frown suited him. 

“Do you know,” I remarked pleasantly, “you 
are awfully like a man in a play. I can’t describe 
the sort of man I mean, but he is — ^well, he is just 
like you.” 

His attitude seemed to be endeavoring to explain 
to me that he was unconscious of my presence; but 
I am of an amiable and forgiving disposition at times, 
so I went closer to him. 

“The man is rather nice,” I added. 

Still no notice. He crossed one brown-booted, 
heather-mixture leg and foot over another, and studied 
the leader with great absorption. 

“Eustace!” with great effort I made my voice 
plaintive and — malleable. “ Eustace, won’t you speak 
to me ? ” 


[ 319 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


No notice. A silence as of the dead pervaded 
the room, and the clock’s ticking was simply aggres- 
sive. 

Then I became angry, and, marching out of the 
room, banged the door to behind me. I would show 
him that two could play at that game. If he were 
going to sulk and be angry about nothing at all, 
what would he be like when there was a real cause 
for it ? 

Straightway I went to Wellesley and invited him 
to play golf. I am getting quite fond of Wellesley 
now that his influenza irritability is vanishing. He 
is not in the least like that which my imagination had 
conjured up as a newspaper-man; for he is quite 
clean and well-dressed, and seems to like other people 
to talk. It is easy to see he is Aunt Menelophe’s 
favorite of her three sons, and he is just devoted to 
her. 

“Isn’t she a beautiful old mother?” he asked 
me one day before her; and when I nodded she told 
us not to make so much noise as she wanted to have 
her afternoon nap, but there was an expression in 
her eyes, as they rested upon Wellesley, which brought 
a tight feeling into my throat. I hope when I am 
old I shall be the possessor of a big son who will be 
proud of me. 

Wellesley looked rather astonished at my invitation. 

“ Where’s Escourt ? ” he asked. 

“He’s reading,” I replied, going scarlet. 

[ 320 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Phew ! ” he ejaculated, and then whistled. 

“Would you rather not play?” I inquired with 
dignity. 

“ I would like it above all things, little cousin, 
but — Escourt. Won’t he mind ? He’s a funny chap.” 

“I don’t think he will mind,” I said steadily; “and 
if he does it — can’t be helped.” 

My cousin whistled again — The Dead March in 
Saul, which was not inspiriting. 

“Well, I’m going,” I said. “I will have a round 
by myself,” and I walked off. 

“Wait a moment,” shouted Wellesley. “Give a 
fellow a chance. I must put on my boots.” 

“You’ll take all the responsibility now,” he said 
as we walked to the links. “Escourt’s got a queer 
temper, though he is my pal and — and a — a very 
decent chap,” he added. (Wellesley’s more like a 
great boy than a man of thirty, and he’s very tact- 
less.) 

“Why, I might be suggesting that we should run 
off and get married,” I said with asperity, “instead 
of a simple round of golf. If Eustace wants a game 
he knows where to find us: he must have seen us 
pass the library window.” 

“All right, all right,” sang Wellesley. “I’m game 
for anything if you’ll take the risks. Now will you 
tee off ? ” 

We had a jolly morning, and I made two splendid 
drives and lost only three balls. 

21 [ 321 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


As we were returning from the links I espied Eustace 
in the distance coming toward us. The fresh air 
had blown away all my annoyance and pique, and 
cheerfully I waved my clubs and called to him. It 
was far too glorious a day to quarrel with your lover; 
but in the midst of my friendliest “ Coo-oo ! ” he raised 
his cap, and deliberately turning on his heel walked 
back to the house. 

“You’ve done it,” said Wellesley cheerfully. “I 
told you so.” 

Now I could have thumped Wellesley with one 
of the clubs, for a man to say “ I told you so ” is base 
in the extreme; and it was with great strength of 
purpose I held myself well in hand. 

“I should run after him if I were you,” was his 
next brilliant suggestion. It is hard to believe Wel- 
lesley earns his living by journalism. 

“ Wellesley,” I said, turning on him, “ please under- 
stand I have never in my life run after a man, and 
I don’t intend to begin, so kindly suggest something 
more feasible.” 

“Can’t,” said he feebly; “I’m not imaginative.” 

“Well, then, don’t say anything,” I said, at which 
he began to whistle The Dead March. 

Aunt Menelophe was coming down the stairs as 
we entered the house. 

“ Where’s Eustace ? ” she inquired. 

I told her I didn’t know. 

“ Don’t know ? ” she repeated. 

[ 322 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


‘No,” I said. 

Every feature of her face thereupon expressed 
that special brand of surprise which betokens short- 
ness of breath. I began to walk up-stairs. The Dead 
March in Saul stole gently after me, accompanied 
by Aunt Menelophe’s labored breathing, but I did 
not look round. It was absurd to show such astonish- 
ment at my merely declining, in these early days of 
our engagement, to be Eustace’s keeper. 

I went to my room, dashed cold water over my 
face, wrestled with my wind-blown hair, looked at 
Eustace’s photograph, and went down to lunch feeling 
excessively firm. Eustace was already in his place, 
and with his customary politeness pulled out my 
chair, found my serviette — which invariably leaves 
me during meals, preferring to rest on the carpet 
beneath the table — handed me the salt and pepper, 
and then returned to his lunch. 

Twice I made attempts at conversation, but it is 
difficult to talk to a man who replies in monosyllables, 
so turning my back on him I devoted myself to Aunt 
Menelophe, who sat with an amused twinkle in her 
eye and a little smile at the comer of her lips. 

But I was not happy; I own up to it that I was 
wretched. It was all so small and absurd, and down 
in my heart I felt frightened. To what had I engaged 
myself? I had been led to understand that lovers’ 
quarrels were amusing and entertaining. I did not 
find this in the least so, and I felt I was being made 
[ 323 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


ridiculous in the eyes of my relations and the ser- 
vants. 

As soon as Aunt Menelophe rose I made quickly 
for the door, and vanished up the stairs to my room. 
I would write a Ipng letter to mother, and then I 
would read Browning. I thought of Robert and 
smiled. He said I should read Browning and talk 
of him, but I wouldn’t do that for — his sake. I 
started — what on earth was I saying ? A nasty 
little uncomfortable twinge, not exactly of pain, 
but of — of loneliness — shot through me. How nice 
it would be if — Robert were here to go for a walk, 
just a friendly walk. He always understood me so 
well, and our very silences seemed like interesting 
conversations. He never made talk, and — and he was 
such a sympathetic listener. A tear stole down my 
cheek; I knew I was a fool, but that tear relieved 
the tension. I felt I would like a real good cry — I had 
not had one since the day Robert had told me of his 
love — but I must not give way to it. Eustace would 
think I had been crying about him, and that was 
insupportable. He was a horrid, conceited 

A knock came at the door, and a note was handed 
in by Parkins. I tore it open. 

“My dearest Girl, 

“Will you come down to the library? I want 
to talk to you. You looked unhappy at lunch. Per- 
haps I was a little severe with you. I forget how 
young you are, and that your temper is a little un- 
[ 324 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


governed. It was not wise of you to go off this morn- 
ing; but I will forgive you, so come at once. 

“Yours ever, E. E. 

“P.S. — I have been quite lonely, dearest.” 

I went to him. It was that P.S. that did it; the 
rest of the note I did not like. He was very sweet 
and nice, and made me feel quite ashamed of myself. 
Now I come to think of it, it was rude of me to drum 
on the window-pane and giggle without explaining 
the cause of my amusement, and I have really for- 
gotten now what I did laugh at. But we made friends, 
and had a very happy afternoon. Eustace is really 
splendid company, and he never seems to get tired 
of talking. Hitherto, as a rule, I have done most 
of the talking, and my friends have listened; but 
now the order of things is reversed. Eustace talks 
and I listen. He is so clever, and so anxious to teach 
me that I cannot but be grateful to him. I could 
wish though that he would suggest easier and lighter 
books for my delectation than The Origin of Species 
and First Principles; and it was so much nicer to 
feel that I was a direct descendant of Adam than that, 
by various intricate and complicated stages, I had 
evolved from something horrid and unpleasant like 
a jelly-fish. But he is so happy when he is pointing 
out to me our intimate resemblance to fish and birds, 
and frogs and snails, that I wouldn’t interrupt him 
for the world. 


[ 325 ] 


CHAPTER XXV 

A Walk in the Rain, and Eustace Talks Ruskin 

E ustace and I have spent a peaceful though 
somewhat dull day. 

In the morning it poured with rain, and 
we sat in the library and read Sesame and Lilies^ and 
Eustace drew my special attention to “ Queen’s 
Gardens” and the noble and beautiful and elevating 
suggestions there set forth for the guidance and help 
of women who desire to be pure and cultured and 
self-reliant. He was a little put out at my frequen ; 
yawning; but, as I explained to him, it had nothing 
to do with the book. I always yawn on wet days; 
it is the damp. He said it was a curious and un- 
fortunate habit, and I agreed with him. 

Butterby returned the beetle to me at lunch. He 
seemed unwilling to let it go, and kept drawing away 
his hand — ^just as I was taking it — to examine some 
fresh point of interest in it. I asked him, in a kind 
voice, if he wouldn’t like to keep it for good, and he 
replied — 

“Certainly not. A present is a present, but do 
be very careful with it; it is a unique specimen, and 
very valuable.” 


f326] 


HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 


I suggested having it insured, and he said — 

“ Eh ! What’s that ? ” 

I told him again, and after some little considera- 
tion he said he did not think any company would 
take it. I pointed out patiently that I did not wish 
any company to take it, but to insure it against loss 
or theft, and he went on with his lunch as though 
he had not heard me. I am sure Butterby is a little deaf. 

In the afternoon it was still pouring, and Eustace 
taught me chess. He spoke of it as an intellectual 
pastime, and it seemed a suitable description. I 
think it is the dullest, dreariest, most complicated 
game I ever came across. Half an hour at the moves 
gave me a splitting headache, and I was obliged to 
borrow Aunt Menelophe’s eau-de-cologne and lie 
down. The only thing I remember of the game is 
that “Gambit” is a word derived from the Italian 
gamhetto — a tripping up of the heels. The expression 
took my fancy; it sounds so nice and light-hearted. 

I felt a little better after tea, and suggested we 
should go for a walk. Eustace seemed very surprised, 
and said it was still raining and nearly dark, and 
that he thought it would be very unpleasant. 

I told him I felt obliged to go out in the fresh air 
once a day for the sake of my health, and that I did 
not mind the rain, as I had a stout waterproof and 
a pair of goloshes. I spoke with unusual firmness, 
for I noticed that he had again reached Ruskin out 
from the bookcase. 


[ 327 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Unwillingly he came with me, and he was right — 
it was not a pleasant day, though I felt it was pref- 
erable to being cooped up any longer in the library. 
The rain and damp had caused the whole of the 
smoke and smuts of the Potteries to condense into 
a heavy, black pall, which hung over Blongton like 
some menacing, evil spirit. In an unguarded moment 
I pointed it out to Eustace before turning our steps 
away from the town, and he immediately began again 
to talk about Ruskin. He spoke of the great teach- 
er’s dream of a Utopia — socially, morally, physically; 
of a land purged of railways, machinery, smoke, and 
dirt ; of an art which was beautiful only when truthful, 
natural, pure, and earnest. 

I enjoyed it all so much at first. It was so com- 
forting, as we splashed through the sticky, black 
mud, to dwell on the beauty of anything, and Eustace’s 
language was really very fine. But, after a time, 
my thoughts must have wandered, for it was with 
a violent start I came back to earth by hearing Eustace 
ask me to take off my goloshes and he would throw 
them over the hedge. 

“ My goloshes,” I murmured dazedly. 

“Haven’t you been listening to me?” he asked 
reproachfully. 

“Oh, yes,” I said hurriedly. “You were speaking 
of smokeless fires and pure air.” 

“ That was some time ago. For the last ten minutes 
I have been dwelling on the artistic and beautiful 
[ 328 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


side of woman’s dress, and I was remarking that 
your goloshes were such an eyesore it would be as 
well to remove them.” 

“ Remove my goloshes ? ” I repeated stupidly. 

“Yes,” he said, a shade impatiently. “You must 
admit that they are not beautiful. I expect you wear 
them from force of habit — ^been brought up to them 
in the country; but they are not necessary if your 
boots are stout.” 

“But they’re not; I should catch my death of 
cold,” I said. 

“Oh, well, I don’t want you to do that,” he said 
somewhat grudgingly. “ But in future you will 
have stouter boots for my sake, won’t you ? ” 

I laughed. 

“If you wish it,” I said; “but what — what an 
original man you are, Eustace. It seems so funny 
to mind a thing like a pair of goloshes. 

“ Yes, I have always been considered a little original,” 
he replied, taking my arm, “and I am glad you are 
willing to meet me in the matter. It shows a nice, 
yielding spirit.” 

“Oh, I never mind giving in about little things 
that don’t matter,” I said cheerfully, and I was sur- 
prised to see a shade of annoyance pass over his face; 
but I did not appear to notice it, and asked him if 
he could teach me the correct pronunciation of Don 
Quixote y which he very kindly did, and a lot of other 
things as well. 


[ 329 ] 


CHAPTER XXVI 

Eustace Annoys Me, and I Retire to My Room to Sew 

I AM sitting up in my room gently fuming at 
Eustace. We have been engaged barely a 
week, and we have just quarrelled for the third 

time. 

Now if we had been married a year, I might have 
looked upon it as a natural and laudable desire to 
wish to fling things at Eustace’s head. But an engage- 
ment of a week’s standing! Surely there must be 
something wrong. 

And, of course, it is all his fault. I have been 
reading Jeremy Taylor and trying to delude myself 
into believing that it is mine; but I know it isn’t. 
A man who is engaged to a girl has no right to speak 
so to her; and when I look back upon the provoca- 
tion given, I marvel at the restraint I showed. 

We had been out for a drive in the dog-cart. The 
afternoon for the time of the year was perfect, with 
thousands of little white cloudlets sailing along in 
a turquoise-blue velvet sky. Eustace drives well, 
and as we ripped along with the fresh wind blowing 
in our faces, my spirits, which had been depressed, 
[ 330 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


went up with a rush. I love driving, and I love the 
fresh wind and the white clouds and quiet fields. 
I was gay, and Eustace expansive, and all went as 
merry as a marriage bell till our return home, when 
in getting out he said suddenly, ‘‘Not that foot 
first. How ignorant! Surely you know better?” 
His voice was so sharp and displeased that in my 
flurry and agitation I jell out, and scraped my hands 
and barked my knees on the sharp gravel. I picked 
myself up quickly, expecting to find him simply over- 
come with remorse, when to my intense chagrin all 
he said was — 

“You really must be more careful. Of course if 
you get out of a carriage with the wrong foot fore- 
most you must expect to fall. I am very sorry, dear, 
but it will be a lesson to you in future.” 

I stared at him for a moment dumfounded; angry 
tears rushed to my eyes. How could he speak so? 

I stalked into the house without vouchsafing any 
reply. 

The gong had just sounded for tea, and Aunt 
Menelophe was crossing the hall to the drawing- 
room. 

“Look where you are going. Hazel; don’t walk 
over me,” she said. “What is the matter?” 

“Aunt Menelophe,” I answered, “I simply detest 
men.” 

“Already?” she said, laughing. “I knew it would 
come sooner or later, but this is earlier than I expected.” 

[ 331 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“What do you mean?” I asked, clutching at her 
arm. 

“I mean exactly what I say; but I should prefer 
your not pinching me. Come and have some tea.” 

“ Of course I was only generalizing.” 

“Of course,” she agreed. 

Eustace came in a few minutes later with beauti- 
fully brushed hair, and handed me muffins in the 
friendliest fashion. He was evidently quite unaware 
that I was having a deadly quarrel with him; and 
is there anything more exasperating than to be at 
loggerheads with a person who is oblivious of the 
fact? He made a healthy tea, and talked to Aunt 
Menelophe of Wedgwood pottery. 

“Are you coming to the library, dear?” he asked 
when we had finished tea and were alone. 

“No,” I said. 

“ You would prefer staying here ? ” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

“ Where, then, vrould you like to go ? ” he persisted 
in a patient voice. 

“I am going to my room. There is a fire there.” 
My tones were chilling. 

“ Won’t that be a little dull ? ” he asked. 

“Not at all. I usually prefer my own society to 
that of my fellow-creatures.” 

“But of course there are exceptions?” he queried 
with a smile. “ You are probably referring to women ? ” 

“On the contrary,” I retorted, “I find women 
[ 332 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


infinitely more entertaining than men. Aunt Me- 
nelophe — now could you mention a man more in- 
teresting and delightful than she ? ” 

“Mrs. Menzies is a charming woman, but — ^yes, 

certainly I have met one or two men who ” He 

twisted his mustache and glanced at himself in a 
mirror. 

I got up and walked toward the door. 

“Are you really going?” he said querulously. 
“ I was looking forward to this little, quiet time before 
dinner. I have something I want to read to you — 
Flaubert’s Salammbo. The writing is magnificent 
— such vivid coloring. It is a classic in its way. 
Probably you don’t know it? Your reading does 
not appear to have been extensive.” 

“No,” I replied, “I don’t know it, and if it is a 
classic it is sure to be dull, and I know I shall hate 
it.” 

He looked positively shocked. 

“ I don’t like to hear you speak so,” he said, “ even 
in fun.” 

“I’m not in fun,” I retorted. “I feel more like 
Molly Bawn or Comin* Thro^ The Rye. I adore 
ComirC Thro^ The Rye. I’ll stay if you’ll read me 
some of that, the bit where Paul proposes to Nell.” 

He smiled. 

“You will have your Httle joke,” he said. “They 
are pretty little stories. But come, take off your hat, 
and we’ll begin Salammbo.** 

[ 333 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“I’m not joking,” I almost shouted. His tone 
of command irritated me beyond endurance. “ I 
won’t listen to Salamander, and I’m going to pack.” 

“ Pack ! ” he echoed. “ Pack what ? ” 

“My clothes, of course.” 

“ But why should you wish to pack your clothes ? ” 

“To go home,” I replied. “You say you are 
going to see mother, and I have written to tell her of 
our engagement, and of course she’ll be expecting us.” 

“ But I have changed my mind,” he observed 
calmly. “It is an old-fashioned piece of etiquette, 
this going to ask the parent’s consent, especially 
when the daughter is dowerless.” (I thought it 
would have shown a nicer and more refined feeling 
if he had suppressed this last.) “I am sure Mrs. 
Wycherley will see this, and Heatherland, from what 
you tell me, appears to be an excessively dull, pro- 
vincial little village.” 

“Heatherland is charming,” I said. “We have 
the river Dee and the blue Welsh mountains ever 
at hand to cheer us on our way. No village could 
be designated as ‘provincial,’ to my thinking, with 
two such possessions.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” he commented. 

“No; and besides, mother will be expecting you. 
I told her you were going, and she’ll be so disap- 
pointed. At this momnt the spare room will be 
undergoing a thorough cleansing, the whole house 
will reek with the scent of soap and furniture polish, 
[ 334 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and the white musUn curtains are going up a month 
before their time.” 

He smiled. 

“I am afraid I shall have to defer the pleasure 
of meeting these attractive properties till a few months 
later — till our wedding, eh, little girl? I suppose 
we must do the conventional thing and be married 
from your home, though village weddings are the 
dullest and most boring of functions. Popularly 
they are supposed to be simple and sweet and rustic, 
whereas they are really heavy and commonplace, 
attended by much feeding and drinking and dull 
toasts. But ours must be different. The reception 
must be under your shady oak trees, and you must 
wear some soft, illusive, filmy, dim draperies of white 
chiffon, and not that stiff horror — satin. With a 
dense background of green, and a brighter carpet 
of green grass at your feet, you ought to look very 
ch ” 

“Grass doesn’t grow under trees,” I interrupted, 
“and I shall probably be married in puce-colored 
alpaca; we are not modish in Heatherland. But I 
don’t want to talk about my wedding-gown; it may 
nev — I mean June is a long way off, but what I do 
want to discuss is this question of going home. I 
know mother will be expecting you. She will be 
hurt and disappointed if you treat her in such in- 
different fashion; and, besides, I think you ought 
to go.” 


[ 335 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Don’t be unreasonable, dear,” and his voice 
drawled in the way I have learned to dread. “You 
must try not to be conventional, it is so narrowing. 
This asking a mother for her daughter’s hand would, 
in our case, be simply an empty formality. You 
and I have agreed to marry each other. You are 
of age; there is nothing more to be said.” 

“But mother might object to you,” I persisted; 
“and as for conventionality, the boot is on the other 
leg. It is you who are conventional.” 

“That is not a very cultured or refined expres- 
sion,” he said, smiling and showing his white teeth, 
“and it is a great surprise to me to know that any 
one could dub me as a conventional being. May 
I ask in what way I have fallen into such a depressing 
error ? ” 

And when I told him he became very annoyed. 

“ That is not conventionality,” he retorted. “ There 
is a correct way of eating and an incorrect. You 
would not eat asparagus with a knife and fork. So 
there is a correct way of getting out of a carriage 
and, as you know to your sorrow, an incorrect.” 

“Yes, but you did not care about my falling; you 
were only thinking that my awkwardness would 
make it clear to the world that I was unaccustomed 
to carriages,” I said hotly. 

He colored slightly. 

“You are very imaginative,” he said. 

“ Well, deny it if you can. I would not have minded 
[ 336 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


had you spoken gently and kindly, I am quite will- 
ing to be taught, but it wounds me when you speak 
so, Eustace.” 

“Well, you must try not to be such a touchy little 
thing. I think it is only kind to point out to you 
your little mistakes. You know they are your best 
friends who tell you of your faults.” 

“Then the Lord deliver me from such friends,” 
I said devoutly; “I would prefer a host of enemies. 
I know those friends, and would gladly attend their 
funerals.” 

“ You are very uncontrolled and excitable,” he 
sighed, seating himself on the sofa. “Let me see, 
how old do you say you are ? ” 

“I shall be twenty-two on the 18th of May,” I 
said glibly. 

“So much? I should not have thought it. Well, 
come and sit down here by me. I want you to try 
and realize, dearest, that when I speak so it is for 
your good.” 

“ No, thanks; I am going. I don’t want to realize it.” 

“ But why go ? I want you to stay with me. This 
time together before dinner has always been so pleas- 
ant, hasn’t it?” 

“I don’t think I have enjoyed it very much,” I 
said slowly as I opened the door. 

His eyebrows took unto themselves such an ex- 
pression of extreme surprise that I laughed in spite 
of myself. 

m 


[ 337 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ I am sorry to hear that,” he said in a voice which 
implied he didn’t believe me. “What are you going 
to do in your room that will be more entertaining?” 

“Stitch a new braid on my skirt,” I said; “it is 
fascinating work, and gives me an opportunity to 
think. Much conversation is a weariness to the 
flesh when — another person does all the talking. 
Good-by.” 

Aunt Menelophe has been talking to me. When 
I heard her knock, and she came in — a beautiful, 
gracious presence, with her soft grays, and soft rustling 
of silken skirts, and the faint, clean, sweet smell of 
lavender, which always clings to her — I felt, suddenly, 
so overpoweringly in love with her that I was obliged 
to get up and put my arms round her and hold her 
tightly. 

“How nicely you do smell. Aunt Menelophe,” I 
said, as I wheeled up an armchair to the fire and 
put her into it. “Somehow you always make me 
think of the hymn — 

“Pleasant are Thy courts above, 

Pleasant are Thy courts below.” 

“Do I? It is lavender — home grown. But what 
are you doing up here alone?” she said, smiling. 

“Sewing,” I told her. 

“It seems an unusual and prosaic sort of thing 
for a newly-engaged girl to be doing when her fiance 
is in the house,” she remarked. 

[ 338 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Girls must be tidy even if they are engaged,” 
I said evasively. 

She laughed. 

“What is the matter?” she asked. 

“Aunt Menelophe, I have noticed that if ever I 
am quiet or desire to be alone, everybody instantly 
jumps to the conclusion that there is something the 
matter with me, or that I am sickening for some 
illness. It is so depressing. Should I not be gabbling 
away at home or tearing about with Dibbs, mother 
invariably asks me if I have a headache. Now it 
is a little trying, isn’t it, that I can never be quiet or 
enjoy a little communing with my own spirit?” 

“Because it is not natural to you. Any one can 
see that you are an intensely gregarious creature 
given the right sort of people with whom to consort; 
besides, stitching on braids is dull, nasty work. Par- 
kins would have done it for you.” 

“I am enjoying it immensely,” I said untruth- 
fully, “ and have had a lovely think.” 

“What have you been thinking about?” she in- 
quired. 

I hesitated. 

“I have been thinking of the descent of man and 
the accent of woman. I wonder how it has come 
about that women are so much superior to men — 
so much bigger and broader.” 

Aunt Menelophe sat back in her chair and laughed. 

“ It is not a month since I heard you express exactly 
[ 339 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


the opposite sentiments, and you say you are con- 
sistent.” 

“A lot has happened in a month, Aunt Menelophe,” 
I said. “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin 
of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philoso- 
phers and divines. With consistency a great soul 
has simply nothing to do.” 

“Oh!” said Aunt Menelophe. 

“Yes,” I said, “that is from Emerson. Eustace 
read it to me last night.” 

“Oh!” said Aunt Menelophe again. 

“I must now dress for dinner,” I observed, getting 
up and beginning to put away my work; “but you 
needn’t go unless you like.” But Aunt Menelophe 
was moving slowly toward the door and she disap- 
peared through it still repeating “Oh!” under her 
breath. 


[ 340 ] 


CHAPTER XXVII 

1 Receive Some Letters of Congratulation, and 
Eustace Again Annoys Me 

W HEN one is going to be late for breakfast at 
Blongton Hall, you must skip either your 
bath or your prayers and Bible if you desire 
to get down before Butterby has consumed the whole 
of the eggs and bacon. Butterby is so tiresomely 
absent-minded at meals. Now this morning I chose 
the latter course. For one tiling, the “Children’s 
Scripture Union ” authorities have willed that its 
members should read the book of Numbers for its 
daily portion, and Numbers is not interesting; and 
for another — well, since I began to read all those 
strange books of Eustace’s my prayers have not 
seemed so convincing as of old. It seems impossible 
to believe that God — no, this First Cause — can be 
bothered listening to the requests of a foolish girl 
when He has so much to do and arrange in all these 
billions of worlds. 

And yet I feel sorry, and somehow I feel lonely. 
It was always comforting to think that some one 
1341 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


was understanding when I tried to be patient with 
Angela. Certainly I did not try half enough, but 
now it seems that it won’t matter at all, though Eustace 
says it will. He says we must do right for its own 
sake, and from love of humanity. If I am going 
to do right out of my love for Angela a precious lot 
I shall get done. 

As I walked down the stairs to breakfast it came 
over me that it was the very first time in my life I 
had left my bedroom in a morning without saying 
my prayers. I had skipped them, it is true, shortened 
them, but I had never left them utterly unsaid. I 
stood irresolutely with my hand on the banisters, half 
inclined to turn back, when Eustace appeared. He 
asked me what was the matter, and why I was looking 
so troubled, and like a stupid I told him. My knowl- 
edge of him might have led me to realize that he could 
not understand how I felt — after all these years of 
saying my prayers — suddenly to leave them unsaid; 
but it hurt me so badly when he laughed. He stooped 
and kissed me when he saw my cheeks flame up, 
and put his arm round me, but I couldn’t forget the 
laugh. 

“Were your prayers such a comfort to you?” he 
asked, still smiling. 

“No,” I replied, “not often,” and I tried to walk 
on. 

“Well, why do you feel it so much, the not saying 
them?” 


[S42] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Supposing,” I said, “you had been in the habit 
of saying ‘good-moming’ to some one for nearly 
twenty years, and suddenly one day you found the 
person had vanished, wouldn’t you feel a little lonely ? 
Especially if there were nothing left to take that 
person’s place.” 

“But that is where you make a mistake,” he re- 
torted; “there is.” 

I shook my head. 

“There may be for clever people such as you, 
who are strong and self-reliant and can stand alone, 
but where do I come in ? ” 

“You must lean on me, little one,” he replied, 
again putting his arm round me, “I will help you 
and teach you.” 

“But I don’t want you,” I cried, wriggling away; 
“I want my old faith. You — ^you can’t take the 
place of God to me. Can’t you see? You have 
taken everything away from me, and in its place 
you offer me yourself and some difficult doctrine 
of which I cannot make top nor tail. I wish you 
had never read me that old Evolution book.” 

“But the theory of evolution does not necessarily 
take away your Christ,” he said, looking deeply 
offended. 

“ It does,” I snapped. “ It makes me feel as though 
I had been standing on my head.” 

“I think you want your breakfast,” he replied, 
stalking in front of me with his head in the air, and 
perhaps he was right. 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


Four letters were lying on my plate, and I guessed 
their contents. 

“Congratulations, I suppose?” said Aunt Menel- 
ophe after a time. “What does your mother say? 
I hope she is surviving the shook.” 

“She appears resigned, and is engaged in purchas- 
ing calico and flannel for my trousseau, and Angela 
is copying out receipts. They wish to make me a 
good housewife,” and I glanced at Eustace. 

“ What a horrible prospect,” he said. 

“Don’t be alarmed,” I replied, laughing; “house- 
keeping is not my metier.'*^ 

“ Which is a pity,” remarked Aunt Menelophe 
severely. “Neither of you will be happy if what 
you say is correct. Eustace will be uncomfortable 
and hungry, and you will be annoyed at his daring 
to be hungry, and then he will go to his club.” 

“And I shall go to mine. I love meals, what I 
call, out of doors. I can’t remember the occasion 
on which I have not dined from off our own large 
table at home. It will be such a pleasant change. 
But I must continue my letters; they are most inter- 
esting. Mother’s accounts have gone wrong. She 
is one-and-sixpence out, and wants me to help her 
if I can.” 

“Chimney-sweep,” said Butterby, so unexpectedly 
and suddenly that I spilled my coffee. I sat and stared 
at him. 

“ Whatever made you think of that ? ” I asked. “ It 
was very clever of you.” 


[ 344 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Not at all,” he retorted, looking pleased. “I 
heard you read out to the mater in the last letter 
from your mother that your kitchen chimney re- 
quired sweeping.” 

“Butterby,” I said, “you are a genius; I always 
knew it. I will at once send mother a postcard to 
that effect. You are the kind of man who will make 
your mark in the world.” 

“Are you wanting that beetle back?” he ask-ed 
somewhat unkindly. 

I had once again lent it to him. 

“No, I’m not, Butterby. How can you misjudge 
me so?” I asked in hurt tones, and they all 
laughed. 

When breakfast was over Eustace asked me to 
go to the library. 

“There is a little book on monistic and genetic 
philosophy I want to read to you,” he said. “I 
think it will help you to feel happier.” 

“ Is it about monasteries ? ” I inquired. 

He gave a httle sigh. 

“You have a lot to learn, but I shall enjoy teach- 
ing you. You are fairly quick, but we must lose 
no time.” 

“Couldn’t we wait till after we are married?” 
I suggested, my heart sinking as I saw him reach 
two awful-looking books out of the shelves. “ I 
want to read you these letters; they are so dear and 
funny. I shall have heaps of time by-and-by to learn 
all about this genesis philosophy.” 

[ 345 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“ Genetic,” he corrected me, sitting down and 
looking resigned. “ Are they long ? ” 

“ Don’t you want to hear them ? ” I asked in nettled 
tones. 

“Not very much; but what interests you must, 
of course, interest me. I must train myself to seeing 
things with your eyes.” 

My first impulse was to fling the letters at his head, 
but I thought better of it. We must not again begin 
the day with quarrelling; it seemed so bourgeois. 
Besides, were we not to be married in six months ? 

“They are not very long, and I think will amuse 
you,” I said, trying to speak gently. 

“Well, come nearer to me; I like to watch your 
face when you read,” he said. 

This was a great improvement. I liked him so 
infinitely better when he spoke thus than when he 
was talldng about dull things like psychic gradations 
and the embryology of the soul. 

I seated myself on the arm of his chair, and began 
with mother’s letter: 

Shady Oak, Heatherland, 

** February 7th. 

“My Dear Hazel, 

“The news of your engagement in your letter 
received this morning came to us as a very great 
surprise ; in fact, it has so bewildered me that I cannot 
get my accounts to balance, though I have been at 
them for over two hours. I cannot trace what I 
[ 346 ] 


HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 


must have omitted to enter, and there is a deficit of 
Is. fid. Angela has done her utmost to assist me, 
but I should be glad if you were at hand, for you 
have, in the past, been so remarkably successful 
in helping to elucidate matters. Perhaps you will 
remember the occasion on which I was 2s. 8d. short, 
and, after endless worry, was about to enter it into 
my petty cash book as ‘sundries,’ a thing I greatly 
dislike doing, when opportunely you came into the 
room and reminded me of ‘ fowl food.’ 

“But now, my dear child, I must speak to you on 
a more important subject. I offer you my warmest 
wishes for your future happiness. I cannot, at present, 
add congratulations until I have made Mr. Escourt’s 
acquaintance, which I trust will be very soon. 

“ I am bound to say that I think it would have been 
more admirable on your fiance's part had he gained 
my sanction before approaching you, but possibly he 
spoke to your Aunt Menelophe as regarding her in the 
light of your chaperon while you were under her roof. 

“ I must confess, too, that I am assailed with grave 
doubts when I reflect upon the brevity of your ac- 
quaintance with — I suppose I must say Eustace, 
though it seems somewhat familiar to speak so of a 
stranger. You say in a fortnight’s time you have 
seen more of him and know him better than you 
would have done in an ordinary way in fourteen years. 
Am I to take it from this that you have met him in 
an extraordinary way ? I do trust that you have been 
in no way bold or unmaidenly in your behavior. 
(Your father used to say I was as elusive as a shadow; 

[ 347 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


of course I was very small. I think it must be more 
difficult for a tall girl to be elusive.) But I must 
put such a suspicion behind me. No daughter of 
mine would be immodest, of that I am convinced. 

“ And now that I have fulfilled my duty, as a mother, 
and read to you my little homily, I must turn to pleas- 
anter matters. 

“On receipt of your letter, I hastened to the box- 
room to examine your grandmother’s veil. It is in 
excellent preservation and of a lovely color, old Lim- 
erick, and a large size. It should reach almost to the 
end of your train. There is also a Limerick lace 
flounce. I cannot help feeling that they will cause 
quite a sensation in Heatherland, and it pleases me 
to think that Mrs. Boyds will see them. She will 
then understand that we have come of some family. 

“You say that Mr. Es. — Eustace is desirous, with 
my approval, that your marriage should take place 
in June. The time is very short in which to prepare 
your trousseau; but we can engage Phoebe Ellis to 
come in and help with the plain sewing. Her tucking 
is superior even to Angela’s, and she still strokes her 
gathers, which, in these days of machinery and slop- 
work, is a virtue not to be overlooked. 

“It is satisfactory to know that Eustace is a man 
of means, for I do not think you would have made 
a very suitable wife for a poor man. Your darning 
is bad, and there is much to be desired in your cook- 
ing. However, perhaps you will now begin to im- 
prove and learn. Angela has already begun to write 
you out some of our best and tried recipes. 

[ 348 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“I am looking forward to the day when you bring 
your fiance to Shady Oak. Angela and I are paying 
a few calls this afternoon. Some weeks have elapsed 
since I saw Mrs. Moss. Should any item strike you 
which I might have omitted to enter into my account- 
book please send me word. 

“ With my love to your Aunt Menelophe and much 
to yourself, 

“I remain, 

“Your affectionate Mother.” 

“Isn’t she a dear?” I said. “She will be as sen- 
timental over our wedding as a girl of sixteen. Mother 
is such a strange mixture of practicality and sen- 
timentality. I am sure you will like her.” 

“ She seems a funny old lady,” he remarked. 

“She is not old,” I contradicted; “she is only 
middle-aged, and wears such pretty caps, which, 
however, are usually on one side, rather detracting 
from the staid appearance they ought to give to her. 
Mother’s only fault lies in her preference for Angela 
to me; it seems short-sighted of her.” 

He smiled. 

“ And what is Angela like ? ” 

I felt pleased at his interest, and when he wasn’t 
looking smuggled the two dry books to the back of 
the chair. 

“Angela is unlike an3i;hing else God ever created,” 
I said impressively. “If you like I will read you 
her letter ? ” 


[ 349 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


He nodded assent, and I began to realize once 
more what a really nice man he was, though his moods 
were as numberless as the sands of the sea. 

“My dear Hazel,” I began, reading out loud, 

“I write to offer you my congratulations on your 
engagement. Naturally we are astonished, and I 
must confess that I, for one, never anticipated your 
marrying. 

“Mr. Escourt is, apparently, a man of no small 
courage; but you inform us that he has a good in- 
come, so that explains, a little, what would otherwise 
appear to us incomprehensible, for a man meeting a 
girl away from home on a visit cannot possibly judge 
of her capabilities as a housekeeper. However, 
mother and I must endeavor to do all we can toward 
overcoming your deficiencies in this respect during 
the next six months. 

“I have, at some sacrifice to myself, decided to 
hand over to you the management of the housekeeping 
and cooking during that period, and I shall always 
be ready to assist and advise you. I am making 
out a list of the household work and regulations for 
each day of the week, which I trust you will implicitly 
follow. It has taken many years of experience and 
much anxious thought to arrive at that perfection 
in the arrangement of the multifarious duties of a 
household, such as ours, as to permit of Rose’s being 
dressed for the front-door bell by three o’clock. The 
least alteration, therefore, will upset the entire work 
of the house. Some housekeepers might be of the 

[ 350 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


opinion that it was impossible to clean the stair-rods 
every week, but I maintain that it can be done, and is. 

“I thought you would be glad of some good and 
economical recipes for your new home (cookery books 
are, as a rule, misleading and grossly extravagant, the 
writers of them appearing to be under the misappre- 
hension that fowls lay all the year round), so I have 
purchased a 6d. exercise book with sensible stiff cov- 
ers, and in my spare time, which as you are aware is 
limited, will copy out all our most valued and proved 
recipes, among them being ‘How to spice a round 
of beef,’ always a great favorite with men. 

“ Before closing I must ask if your fiance is addicted 
to smoking? For if this be the case the muslin cur- 
tains shall be put up in the dining-room before your 
arrival ; they will not hold the fumes of tobacco to the 
same extent as would the heavy damask ones. You 
will remernoer that on one occasion after a visit from 
Mr. Inderwick, who smoked a peculiarly pungent 
cigar — or was it a black pipe? — we were under the 
necessity of taking them down and hanging them in 
the croft for two days, and even then the smell was 
exceedingly disagreeable. 

“We shall expect Mr. Escourt immediately after 
his return from London, as naturally we wish to 
sanction your engagement, or otherwise, prior to its 
general publication. 

“ As Reas are holding their annual sale this month, 
mother and I are going up to town to-morrow to 
purchase some calico and flannel for your under- 
clothing. The calico shall be flne, as we are aware 
of vour preference for nainsook, but the latter, in 
[ 351 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


such a climate as ours, is ridiculous and simply invites 
rheumatism. 

“With love, I remain, 

“Your affectionate sister, 

“Angela B. Wycherley.” 

“Now what do you think of that?” I said, chuck- 
ling. “That will be your sister-in-law.” 

“She seems very middle-class,” he replied as he 
closed his eyes. 

My cheeks flushed hotly. 

“And that is what we are,” I answered. I don’t 
love Angela, but the contempt in his voice got all 
my pride up in arms. “We are middle-class — and 
so are you.” 

He flushed in his turn. 

“That was a little unnecessary,” he said; “I did 
not say you were middle-class. How touchy you are!” 

At once I was sorry. 

“I know I am touchy,” I laid my hand on his, 
“and you must help me to try to overcome it. I 
am horribly sensitive, Eustace — always have been, 
and you must be patient with me, and — and — love 
me. You do love me, don’t you ? ” I finished trem- 
ulously. 

He looked at me in surprise. 

“ Haven’t I picked you out of all the women I know 
and asked you to be my wife ? ” he asked. 

“Yes — I suppose so, but that doesn’t say you love 
me. I don’t think somehow you seem quite satisfied 
[ 352 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


with me. For instance, yesterday you didn’t approve 
of my frock, and the day before you said I was opinion- 
ated and dogmatic, and to-day you say my family is 
middle-class and ” 

“At the moment I think you are the silliest little 
girl in the world, and I’m surprised at you. You 
must understand that naturally I want my fiancee 
to be the best-dressed and nicest and most superior 
woman of my acquaintance. I want my friends to 
be envying me my luck and wishing they could marry 
Hazel Wycherley. Now finish your correspondence. 
I had no idea I was marrying into such an entertain- 
ing family.” 

He picked up the letters which had fallen to the 
ground and handed them to me. 

Only feeling half satisfied and far removed from 
that joy and happiness which I had looked upon 
as my due as being one of the “engaged” ones of 
this world, I continued to read my correspondence. 
There had been no note of love in Eustace’s voice 
as he had said, “I want my friends to be envying me 
my luck.” I might have been a something bought 
with money of whom he was speaking, and from 
whom he meant to derive as much satisfaction as 
was possible. He had paid a high price for it; there- 
fore it must amuse and interest him. He couldn’t 
be expected to amuse and interest it; that was quite 
outside his calculations. 

“This is from Sammy, our dear old gardener,” 
[ 353 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I said with a sigh. “Sammy is very fond of me. 
Sometimes I take him out a glass of beer when he 
is mowing, though I don’t think he loves me for that 
alone.” 

I looked at Eustace, but he was staring out of 
the window. 


“Shady Oak Cottage, 

February 7th, A.D. 

“My dear Miss Hazelt, 

“The mistress tells me as how you are goin’ 
to get married, so I herewith write to offer you my 
congratulashions, which may seem misunderstandable, 
as I never got married myself. But I says marrage 
is for wimin who seems to like it, but not for men 
who is better single. So I was right in my calcula- 
shons in the happle-room the day as you wanted 
to go to a hisland and sit on yaller sands and eat a 
shrub. I was correct in sayin’ you wanted to mate. 
The symptims never decaves me. I says to myself 
when I saw you afterwards jumpin’ about amongst 
them cabbages, ‘Sammy, you mark my words Miss 
Hazelt will have catched a ’usband in six months’ 
time,’ and you have. You did dredful dammage 
to those cabbages. I had to boil three of ’em with 
the pig-food. 

“I do hope as ’ow you’ll be happy. Miss Hazelt. 
I shall miss you dreadful, cos the Missis says you be 
goin’ to live in London. I went to the ‘ Black Horse ’ 
this mornin’ to order a load of minnure from Farmer 
Bowmphrey, who husually frequents that place about 
[ 354 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


11 o’clock, and just quite casual-like I mentions as 
how I knew some one who was goin’ to be married, and 
the company, which was quite select, guessed as how 
it was you and Mr. Hinderwick, and when I says no 
it was you and a grand gentleman from London, 
they was greatly surprised and said as how they didn’t 
think you would have done so well for yourself. Those 
were their very words. And then Joey Tomlinson 
hups up and says, ‘We will drink their health,’ and 
although it is against my customs of a mornin’ I 
fell in with the suggestion, not to appear onfriendly- 
loike. So we drinks your ’ealth. Miss Hazelt, you 
and your young gentleman’s. 

“ Hopin’ this will find you as well as it leaves me at 
present, 

“ From your obedient servant, 

“Samuel J. Broster.” 

“ Who is Mr. Inderwick ? ” was Eustace’s first 
question. 

“A man who lives in Heatherland. I have often 
meant to tell you about him, but somehow I didn’t,” 
I said. 

“ Did he want to marry you ? ” 

“He does,” I corrected. 

“ And you refused him ? ” 

“Obviously, as I am engaged to you.” 

“ Well, now for your last letter. Heatherland 
seems to produce oddities of the first water.” 

Now I could have wished Eustace would have 
shown greater interest and curiosity in Robert Inder- 
[355J 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

wick. His complete indifference piqued me. He 
just put him on one side as though he were some- 
thing not worth considering. Was he so sure of 
himself, so certain of my affection.^ Suddenly, to 
my horror, I found myself saying, “Why, you self- 
satisfied, conceited ape, Robert’s little finger is worth 
your whole beautiful body.” 

I sprang up. Supposing I had said it out loud: 
supposing Eustace could read my thoughts. I looked 
at him fearfully, anxiously; but he was standing 
in front of the mirror twisting his mustache into 
two spiral points. For the moment he had forgotten 
my existence. I watched him curiously, thoughtfully. 
It seemed strange that he should attach greater impor- 
tance to the training of his mustache than to the fact 
that there was in the world another man desirous of 
marrying me. Now if he had so much as mentioned 
another girl’s name I should have been overwhelmed 
with curiosity and jealousy; I should have wanted 
to hear every single thing about her, and — he stood 
engrossed in his mustache. I walked over to the win- 
dow and looked out on to the drive and the links beyond. 
To the left, nothing but a dreary expanse of chimneys 
and smoke met the eye; it was depressing and dull. 
My vision conjured up another scene — the Dee and 
blue Welsh mountains, and soft, snowy fields, and 
the figure of a big, stalwart man tramping along at 
my side in silent sympathy with my small troubles. 
The shabbiness and old tie and knotted bootlaces 
[ 356 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


faded away; only the kindness and sympathy and — 
and love were there, the rest had gone. Involuntarily 
I turned and looked at Eustace’s face; absent-mindedly 
I went nearer to him for a better inspection. I looked 
up at him. 

“ Do you ever wear bootlaces with knots in them ? ” 
I cried sharply. 

“Certainly not,” and he stared at me in such utter 
amazement that I laughed feebly. 

“ Are you quite certain ? ” I repeated. “ I — I wish 
you did.” 

His mouth opened and shut again, just like a fish’s 
when it has been out of the water for some time. 

“Don’t — don’t look at me like that, or I shall 
scream,” I whispered. 

“Hazel, have you gone out of your mind.^” he 
asked. 

I nodded. 

“I think I have. I don’t know which I want to 
do most, laugh or cry. I think I must be hysterical 
— I feel all funny and trembling, and my throat is 
very tight. No, don’t touch me; I shall be better 
soon. It — it must be the excitement of my engage- 
ment. I lead such a quiet life in the ordinary way; 
and these letters they are too funny, too screamingly 
funny, in the face of what is coming. But I think 
I must go away now; I want to be alone. I am sorry 
you — you don’t wear old boot-laces,” and I fled 
from the room. 


[ 357 ] 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


I Take Decisive Steps. 

P ICKING up a wrap of Aunt Menelophe’s which 
lay on the hall table, I rushed into the garden 
and made for the shrubbery at the side of the 
house, and there I walked up and down, up and down 
between the rhododendron and laurel bushes till I 
became calmer. 

It had been raining, but now the sun was out, 
and the bay leaves and box edging and damp earth 
sent forth a deilicous, fresh, wet scent. Raindrops 
glistened on the ivy which clambered over a lov/, 
tumble-down wall, and a robin perched on a laures- 
tinus bush seemed in excessively good spirits. 

Everything but myself seemed happy and cheerful. 
Only I appeared to possess lobes in my brain stretched 
to bursting-point. 

I sat down on the wall and, clasping my hands 
round my knees, settled myself for a good think. 
I would endeavor to sort up, arrange, classify, and 
marshal my various emotions to their proper places. 
It was unsatisfactory, and neither fair to Eustace nor 
[ 358 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


myself to continue our engagement when I, for one, 
was in a constant state of volcanic upheaval. I would 
look the matter fairly and squarely in the face. Had 
I made a mistake? Was I unduly sensitive? Or 
was Eustace impossible to me as either lover or hus- 
band? 

Eustace himself answered my last question. He 
sauntered down the path with his lithe, graceful 
swing, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on 
the bits of blue sky showing through the branches 
of the trees. I knew, though he did not appear to 
see me, that he was aware of my presence; he was 
evidently looking for me, a damp shrubbery was not 
the sort of place Eustace would haunt. I also knew 
the exact moment when he would give a start of sur- 
prise at seeing me, it would be when he arrived at 
the laurestinus bush. My conjecture was correct, 
and his surprise was natural and well expressed. 

“Hallo! you here. What are you doing?” 

“Sitting on a wall and soliloquizing,” I answered. 

“I expected you to say you were thinking of me.” 

“I was.” 

“But the expression of your face was not very 
happy.” 

I did not reply. 

He seated himself on the wall beside me. 

“I have been searching for you for some time. 
I wish you would not dash off in that way, dear, it 
is so disconcerting. There I had prepared for a 
[359 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


morning’s walk and study with you. I had, at some 
trouble, drawn up a short treatise which I hoped 
might be of some help to you in your various religious 
difficulties; and first you take up a good deal of valu- 
able time in reading those — unique specimens of 
composition, and then, without a word of warning, 
you are seized with a morbid desire that I should wear 
old boot laces, go into mild hysterics, and hide your- 
self in this damp, unwholesome swamp. It is a 
little inconsiderate of you, and I desire some explana- 
, tion of your conduct.” 

To my surprise, instead of feeling violently angry 
at the tone he adopted, I was seized with an over- 
whelming desire to laugh. He did sound so ridicu- 
lously hurt and offended. 

My answer was quite irrelevant. 

“ Eustace, do you know you are so different from 
what I thought you were.” 

“Indeed!” 

“Yes, isn’t it a pity ? I thought your inside matched 
your outside, and I find it doesn’t. It is so disap- 
pointing.” He turned and looked at me, and his 
brows drew together. “You will wonder what I 
mean, and I am going to try and tell you if you don’t 
mind staying here with me for a little. But are you 
sure you are warm enough? I am so accustomed to 
being out of doors, and I always like to discuss things 
that matter out of doors.” He made no reply, and 
my heart gave a little twitter, but I grabbed at my 
[ 360 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


courage and went on. “ Yes, you are so very different 
from what I imagined.” 

“I am not responsible for your imagination,” he 
remarked coldly. 

“No, of course not. I quite agree with you in 
that. It is I who am to blame, therefore I am all 
the more wretched. I should not have idealized 
you. It is not your fault.” 

He made a movement of impatience. 

“You speak in riddles. I think you are meaning 
to be rude, but your language is vague. I don’t 
quite follow you.” 

“I will try to make myself clearer, but it is diflScult 
to say ” 

I picked up a piece of ivy, and slowly dissected it. 

Suddenly he put his arm round me. 

“What is it? What is the matter. Hazel?” 

He spoke more gently. 

I pushed him away. 

“Don’t do that,” I cried. “Don’t be kind to me 
now, it will only make it more difficult what I am 
going to say to you. Eustace, I want you to release 
me from my engagement.” 

He started violently, and I nearly fell off the wall. 

“Impossible! You don’t know what you are saying.” 

“Yes I do. I am not happy.” 

“ Not happy ? ” he repeated in surprise. 

“No. It may seem incredible to you, but I am 
really wretched. I cannot marry you. I am sorry.” 

[3611 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


He stared in front of him and frowned heavily. 

“If this is a joke of yours it doesn’t amuse me — 
it doesn’t appeal to me.” 

“I am not joking. I am in deadly earnest.” 

“But you cannot mean what you say. It’s ridicu- 
lous! We’ve only been engaged a little over a week.” 

“And that has been a week too long. I blame 
myself very much. I was carried away. You dangled 
an alluring bait before my eyes and I jumped at it. 
Now I have begun to realize that to have it I must 
have you, and, on closer acquaintance, I find I don’t 
want you. Forgive me, but I could not live with you, 
and we should both be unhappy.” 

“It is a pity you did not find this out sooner,” he 
said frigidly. 

“ A thousand pities,” and my voice trembled. 

“But your letters of congratulation. Your friends 
in Heatherland. Think of the way people will talk.” 

“I am thinking.” 

“ And you can face it ? ” 

“I don’t like the prospect, but it is preferable to a 
life of unhappiness.” 

“You don’t mince matters.” 

“This is not the moment for politenesses. Besides, 
have you ever spared my feelings ? ” 

“ Wliat do you mean ? ” 

“What do I mean?” I replied slowly. “Have 
you ever ceased correcting and instructing me since 
the moment I said I would be your wife ? Have vou 
[ 362 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


ever ceased making me miserably conscious of my 
deficiencies ? ” 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“You are not fair. That is just like a woman. 
You expressed a desire to learn. You are — how shall 
I put it ? — somewhat old-fashioned and provincial 
in your views. I thought you would feel out of it in 
my set in London. As my wife you will mix with all 
sorts and conditions of men and women — people of 
rare culture — and I wanted to fit you for the position 
you would take among them. I wanted to help you. 
Your simplicity of thought, your freshness, attracted 
me, they are very charming; but, after all, too many 
gaucheries of speech and thought become irritating 
in time and cease to amuse. I desired to spare you 
this, I wanted to teach you, and I thought you were 
interested. It seems I was mistaken.” 

“No, you were not mistaken,” I replied, “I was 
interested, intensely interested, up to the moment 
when I discovered ” 

“What?” 

“That you did not teach me out of love of me or 
love of your subject — of theology, books, art, pictures 
— but because you feared the opinion of your world. 
Your friends might laugh at your wife, at her old- 
fashionedness, at her — provincialism. She might be 
guilty of out-of-date religious sentiments and be held 
up to ridicule. She might go to church in a — middle- 
class sort of way in her best frock and hat. Monism, 
[ 363 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


or whatever you call it, might be engrossing the atten- 
tion of your seekers after truth; she has never even 
heard of the ism, she only possesses an old-fashioned 
deity called God. Browning might be under dis- 
cussion; she is ignorant of his works. Music is 
throwing the whole company into soulful ecstasies; 
she has no soul for music, and shocks the assemblage 
by expressing her yearnings for The Garden of Sleep 
in preference to some dislocating thunder of Wagner’s. 
Art may be causing them to prance round the room 
and roll eyes heavenward ; she doesn’t understand 
pictures, and abominates the Dutch School and large- 
faced, heavy-eyed Madonnas. And she keeps you on 
tenterhooks, wondering what she will say and do 
next; so you teach and talk to her a little more, instruct 
her a little more, read her drier books, and drag her 
to picture galleries and concert halls, when she is 
longing to enjoy these things in her own way, not as 
a means to education crammed down her unwilling 
throat, but as a new and delightful country — unex- 
plored, and running over with precious gifts. She 
must be clever and showy and epigrammatic so that 
she may shine in your — set, when she wants to dally 
and play and be loved.” 

Eustace rose and confronted me. 

“Do you know you are talking like an Adelphi 
melodrama ? ” 

“I never saw one, Eustace, but if the drama feels 
as unhappy as I, it is in a bad way,” I said. 

[ 364 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“And you are extremely illogical; it is not ten 
days since you were wishing to go to theatres and 
concerts and picture galleries.” 

“And I still wish, but to be amused. Just to go 
with you and laugh and enjoy ourselves. Not to be 
instructed for the sake of what other people may think 
of me.” 

“ Is it a sin to wish you to shine before my friends ? ” 

“Yes, if it is to be achieved at the expense of my 
feelings. You have hurt me over and over again this 
week. When have you ever considered my feelings 
or wishes before your own ? ” and my voice suddenly 
blazed into anger. “We have read, you have talked, 
we have walked, we have driven just as you so willed. 
You have corrected me half a dozen times a day, 
kindly and gently I admit, but the correction has 
stung. I was led to believe that the engagement 
days of a girl were the most radiant of her life, and — 
I have cried myself to sleep each night. The other 
evening, for instance, when I said I was sorry for 
being cross and that it made me miserable to disagree 
with you, all you did was to quote some line of poetry, 
which did not seem to my dense understanding to 
bear upon the subject, when I was aching for you to 
take me in your arms and love me; and I had found 
it so hard to say those words, to say I was sorry. A 
girl likes a little fussing over — I am told it is the only 
time she ever gets it; she has to do the fussing after- 
ward — she likes a little courting, she so enjoys being 
[ 365 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


queen for the moment, whereas I have had to dance 
to your piping. I don’t mind doing my share of it, 
but I won’t do it all; and yet I was prepared to do 
so much for you had you gone the right way with me. 
I can be led but not driven. That is where Angela 
has always made a mistake, she has bullied me. At 
first, when you asked me to marry you, I thought it 
was only your wealth and all that it could give me 
that was attracting me; but later I found it wasn’t 
that, it was you — ^yourself. How you talked in the 
library that night! Were you only acting a part, I 
wonder, and has this been your real self of the last 
few days ? I think from the very beginning I realized 
I did not love you, but you attracted, fascinated me. 
And I was flattered that you should pick me out of 
all the women you knew, and I was determined to 
be interested in the subjects in which you were in- 
terested. Ours should be a soul union. You should 
always find in me a sympathetic companion. I was 
prepared even to tackle The Origin of Species, though 
I had to read each page over five times before I had 
grasped its meaning. So — so it came as a shock 
to me to find that you did not want me so much as 
a companion, a wife, but as a pupil to train and mould, 
as a something of which to be proud to your friends. 
It came as a shock to me to find that you did not 
care two brass farthings for me.” 

“ Why then should I wish to marry you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” I replied, “ it puzzles me. It may 
[ 366 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


be that you were flattered by my admiration of you. 
Aunt Menelophe says I can’t hide anything, and that 
my feelings, instead of being in their proper quarters 
and under control, are all over the place. You may 
have thought me — malleable. You may have felt as 
a potter does toward a bit of soft clay — that you would 
hke to mould me, lick me into shape. But you began 
your moulding a little too roughly. But whatever 
your motives, and I cannot follow the workings of 
your mind, of this I am convinced — ^you don’t love 
me, and I don’t love you.” 

He made a movement of impatience. 

“How you harp on love. Love is an old-fashioned 
sentiment.” 

“ It is not too old-fashioned for me,” I said steadily. 

“ But I am sure when we have settled down, when 
you are older and less emotional, we shall be very 
happy together. It is wonderful, the adaptability of 
women, and you always — interest me.” 

I looked at him carefully from the top of his well- 
brushed head to the toe of his well-polished boot. 
And this was all he had to say to my outburst. 

“ Thank you,” I said, “ interest is not enough.” 

He sat down again and took my hand. 

“Hazel, dear, I believe I love you as much as — 
I could love any one.” 

“I feel honored, Eustace, but strange to say that 
does not satisfy me. I want something more. You 
are the type of man who will always love yourself best.” 

[ 367 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Don’t all men?” and he asked the question as 
though he believed it. 

“No,” I said, “my father didn’t for one, and — 
I know of another.” 

“You mean Mr. Inderwick, I suppose — the man 
your gardener said was the cause of your jumping 
about among the cabbages ? ” 

His voice was ironic. 

I struggled against my anger, but my cheeks 
flamed. 

“Yes,” I said quietly, “I mean Mr. Inderwick. 
You and he are the exact opposites to one another. 
His exterior is rough, but he has the mind and heart 
of a gentleman. Your appearance,” and I again 
looked him up and down, “is that of a gentleman, 
but ” 

“Finish it,” he said, going white. 

“ No, I think I won’t,” I said more gently, “ I might 
be sorry afterward, and, after all, I must not forget 
that once I said I would be your wife. That once 
seems so long ago, and yet it is only a little more than 
a week. And now I must say good-bye; we shan’t 
meet again. Either you or I must leave here. I — 
am sorry I made such a mistake. More sorry than 
I can tell you. You probably can’t forgive me now, 
but some day you will thank me.” 

“You have placed me in a ridiculous position,” he 
said savagely. “You whom I fondly imagined were 
a little, simple country girl. All women are deceitful. 

[ 368 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


You have made me a laughing-stock in the eyes of 
the world.” 

“Your philosophy will help you to bear it,” I an- 
swered wearily, “and you can tell your friends that 
you broke off the engagement, and not I. You can 
tell them you found me too gauche and uneducated. 
I shan’t mind, and it is true. Good-bye, Eustace, 
and try to forgive me.” 

I wonder now how my trembhng legs supported 
me down that long shrubbery, for I was as an old 
lady; but somehow I got into the house and up to 
my room and on to my bed. The tears seemed to 
be stopped up, but my heart and head and body were 
one gigantic ache. 


24 


[ 369 ] 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Aunt Menelophe Scolds and Afterward Comforts Me 

I MUST have lain on the bed, with my face buried 
in the pillows, for a couple of hours before Aunt 
Menelophe came to me. I heard the dog-cart 
drive round to the front, I heard Eustace’s voice 
saying “Good-bye,” and then came the tap at the 
door. 

“ Oh, Aunt Menelophe,” I cried, “ I have been 
such a little fool!” 

“Yes, dear,” she said soothingly, stroking my 
hair. 

“ You think so ? ” I questioned, sitting up in bed. 
“Certainly, deaR” 

I lay down and groaned. 

“But you are doing better now,” she said more 
encouragingly. “Your senses are coming back.” 

“ You think I have done the right thing ? ” 
“Undoubtedly. I am only surprised, knowing 
you, you did not do it sooner.” 

“I have been too utterly wretched,” I moaned. 
“I have nearly — cut my throat. Aunt Menelophe.” 
[ 370 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“You mean poison, surely,” she laughed, “it is 
more romantic, and the other is so — so unclean.” 

“Don’t,” I wailed, “don’t laugh at me. Aunt 
Menelophe. It is no joking matter.” 

“No,” she said, “now you mention it, I don’t 
think it is. I am trying to imagine the faces of your 
mother and Angela and all Heatherland, and I am 
wondering if the calico and flannel have yet been 
purchased. What will they all say?” 

“What will they say?” I cried, rumpling up my 
hair. “What will they say? That is the question 
I have been asking myself for the last two solid hours. 
I daren’t go home.” 

“Of course you daren’t,” said Aunt Menelophe 
decidedly, “you must stay with me.” 

“But I can’t always live here.” 

“You can if you like.” 

I shook my head. 

“I love you wildly. Aunt Menelophe, but — I 
couldn’t leave mother.” 

“No, perhaps not,” she agreed, “and — there may 
be some one else you would like to see sometimes.” 

My cheeks became hot. 

“You mean Sammy. Yes, I should miss dear 
old Sammy.” 

“No, I don’t mean Sammy,” she contradicted. 

“Aunt Menelophe,” I observed, “I think it would 
show greater delicacy of feeling if we — did not discuss 

any other man when poor Eustace is barely ” 

[ 371 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


I paused. 

“ Cold in his grave ? You surely don’t mean 
that ? ” she asked. 

“ When poor Eustace’s tobacco is still lingering 
about the house,” I finished, ignoring her inter- 
ruption. 

“That is Wellesley’s tobacco,” she said placidly. 
“ I know the peculiar scent.” 

“ How did he look ? ” I asked presently. 

“A little pale,” she answered. 

“That was rather nice of him,” I said, smoothing 
my pillow. 

“But he made an excellent lunch. He had two 
helpings of roast beef and one of cabinet pudding,” 
she added, a little unnecessarily. 

“Of course he had a long journey before him,” 
I remarked. 

“ Of course ! ” she agreed. 

“That reminds me I have had no lunch,” I said, 
jumping up suddenly. 

“Are you hungry?” There was a surprise in her 
accents which annoyed me. 

“Not very,” I replied, lying down again, “only a 
little sinking.” 

“That is not surprising after what you have gone 
through. Strong emotion always produces a sinking. 
A cup of tea by-and-by will refresh you.” 

Now the thought of roast beef was infinitely more 
attractive to me than tea, but I could not say so. 

[ 372 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Do the servants and Wellesley know?” I asked, 
turning over on my face not to feel the emptiness. 

“Servants know everything , and Wellesley is not 
an idiot. Parkins and James are at the moment 
discussing you in the pantry. I overheard them as 
I came up the stairs. Of course you have behaved 
badly — heartlessly, in fact.” 

“Oh, Aunt Menelophe, you are cruel,” I moaned. 
“You are very unsympathetic, and I am so miser- 
able.” 

Then, to my own surprise, I burst into tears. At 
once her arms were round me. 

“Poor little Hazel!” — and she drew my head on 
to her shoulder — “ have I teased you too much, hurt 
you? But I wanted to punish you a little — well, 
because I think you have behaved very foolishly, 
rashly. I am going to preach to you a little. 
From the very beginning you knew you did not 
love this man. Did you, now ? ” 

I shook my head. 

“You were attracted by his wealth, his appear- 
ance, the life he offered you; but there was no love 
in your heart. This, you thought, did not matter, 
so long as he loved you.” 

I nodded again. 

“Well, this was not exactly an ideal feeling for 
a young girl. Girls are not nice when they are mer- 
cenary and ambitious. We want our girls to be 
simple and sweet and tender-hearted and loving, 
[ 373 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


and not — calculating.” I shrank a little as she stroked 
my cheek gently. “I was disappointed in you, 
grievously so. I had expected something finer of 
John Wycherley’s daughter, for he, in every sense, 

could answer to the grand old name of gentleman ” 

She stopped and mused a little. “He was the finest 
man I ever met, and the best. So — I was disappointed 
in you, angry with Eustace, and still more angry with 
myself for allowing things to come to such ^a pass. 
One thing, however, comforted me — I knew the 
engagement would not last. That is why I insisted 
upon your writing to your mother. I realized that 
it might precipitate matters. As soon as the gravity 
of the step you had taken was driven home to you I 
felt all would be well.” 

“ How could you tell ? ” 

“You have a certain amount of sense. You belong 
to that type of woman who will always love with 
her heart and not with her head, which is the best 
type; and, of course, you discovered Eustace did not 
love you.” 

I started. “Not a little bit?” 

“Not a bit of it,” she said emphatically. “Eustace 
Escourt is selfish to the backbone. He thinks far more 
of the set of his tie than the feelings of a woman.” 

I lay and pondered this over. 

“I found out he did not love me very much,” I 
said presently, “not as — as men do love women. 
But why — why did he ask me to marry him ? ” 

[ 374 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“You must ask me something much easier,” said 
Aunt Menelophe; “I am unequal to coping with 
the mental processes of such a man. And now come 
and have some lunch; it is being kept hot for you. 
You look quite pinched and worn.” 

I rose with alacrity. 

“Are you still disappointed with me. Aunt Menel- 
ophe?” I asked, picking at one of the buttons on 
her sleeve. “I should be — sorry if you were.” 

“I think you are the pluckiest little girl I have 
known, and I am sure your father is smiling down 
approval on you. It is not an easy thing to break 
with a man like Eustace,” was her comforting and 
cheering reply. 

She sat and watched me while I ate my lunch. 

“What did Eustace say to you?” I inquired, 
balancing a roast potato at the end of my fork. 

“He said that you had found out that you were 
not suited for one another; that you felt unequal 
to the position of being his wife; that you preferred 
Mr. Inderwick; and that perhaps, after all, it was 
better for you to marry a provincial.” 

“Oh!” I gasped. 

“Did you say you preferred Mr. Inderwick?” 

“Certainly not.” 

She reflected for a little. 

“It is incomprehensible to me, Wellesley’s liking 
for that man,” she said; “he seems fascinated by 
him.” 


[ 375 ] 


HAZEL OF^HEATHERLAND 


“Perhaps he is nicer to men than to girls,” I sug- 
gested. 

“Perhaps he is,” she agreed. “He would hardly 
dare to instruct them to the extent he does women. 
And, of course, he has helped Wellesley a good deal 
in his career; he knows a good many people who are 
by way of being literary. They are not very big, or 
they would not pose; but they are helpful.” 

“Aunt Menelophe,” I said, “I am sick of the very 
words literary and culture. Are all literary people 
horrid ? ” 

“ Not all,” she replied, laughing. “ Wellesley isn’t.” 

“And do they always talk about things in the 
abstract, and nothing real ? ” 

“Oh, no! They chiefly talk about themselves, 
and they are anything but abstract, which is the pity 
of it,” she replied gravely, picking a dead leaf from 
the plant in the centre of the table and throwing it 
into the fire. 

“I don’t think I should care to marry a literary 
man,” I observed. 

“No; they are unpunctual at meals, and when they 
do arrive they eat more than their share.” 

“Does Wellesley?” I asked. 

“I exclude Wellesley in everything,” she said; “he 
is quite an exception, as you must see.” 


[ 376 ] 


CHAPTER XXX 


I Find Happiness 

I T was last evening that Robert came. I was 
in the library curled up on the white bearskin 
rug before the fire, in the gloaming. The fire 
was clear and red, and in its glowing depths I could 
see many castles, and in each there were always 
two figures — a man’s and a girl’s. In one they were 
having breakfast together in an old-fashioned oak- 
panelled room, and she was talking in her “usual 
illogical way.” In another she was dusting — not 
Parian jugs and bronze horses — but a large bowl 
(which the man called an ash tray), and arranging, 
in little piles on the mantel -shelf, a gross of matches 
which the man watched with a jealous eye for fear that 
perchance she might remove one. In a third, they 
were in the summer sunshine wading along the brown 
sands and through the little pools below Dawpool 
in search of cockles and mussels. In a fourth, they 
were sitting in a big arm — in two big armchairs before 
a cosy fire, and she was reading aloud to him — did I 
begin to write The Origin of Species? For it was 
[ 377 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


certainly not that dry stuff, but a beautiful human 
book, moving them to laughter and tears — The Mill 
on the Floss. They were all homely pictures, but the 
people in them were very happy, and the man was 
big and strong and good. ... A scalding tear 
dropped on to the bearskin, and the fire became a blur, 
and it was then I heard his step in the hall (I should 
know it anywhere), and the door open. ... I don’t 
know how I came to be gathered up in his strong 
arms as I half rose to meet him. I know I did not 
give him permission to behave in such intimate fashion. 
Perhaps my “Oh, Robert!” was a little too glad, I 
will admit that; he says it was the two big tears shining 
in the firelight that did it, and that his arms involun- 
tarily left his side. But whatever the cause, I was 
very content to be there. We sat so for some time in 
silence. He did not kiss me, but drew my face against 
his and held me closely, and — I was happy. 

“Can it be true, little Hazel?” he said at length. 

I nodded. 

“Yes, if you will have me,” I whispered. 

“Have you? It looks like it, don’t you think?” 
he asked. 

“It does rather,” I said, and he laughed. 

“How did you guess? Why did you come?” 
I whispered again. 

“Mrs. Menzies wired for me this afternoon.” 

“ Aunt Menelophe wired for you ! ” I shouted, 
starting up. 


[ 378 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“Now don’t get excited,” he commanded in his 
old direct way, and pulling me back. “ Mrs. Menzies 
and I have been in correspondence for some time.” 

“No!” I gasped. 

“Yes,” he said calmly. 

I closed my eyes. 

“ Tell me all about it,” I murmured faintly. “ Aunt 
Menelophe is a base traitor.” 

“ Aunt Menelophe is the finest and noblest of women 
on God’s earth. She is an absolute brick,” he ob- 
served with conviction. 

“Oh!” I said. 

“Yes; the very day after you arrived here, in 
answer to a letter I had ventured to write her, she 
wrote to me and said ” 

My eyelids were glued together. 

“I can bear it,” I said in a strangled voice. “Go 
on. But Aunt Menelophe and I are enemies for 
life.” 

“Mrs. Menzies will visit us twice a year regularly, 
and we will wait upon her hand-and-foot,” he said 
with determination. 

“Go on,” I repeated; “to talk is the easiest thing 
in the world.” 

“In this letter she said, ‘Don’t give up hope; Hazel 
is a little wobbly. 

“ She didn’t ! ” I shouted, again starting up. 

“Do sit still,” he said plaintively. “I can’t get 
on with my story if you jump about so; in fact, I 
[ 379 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


don’t think I will tell you any more. I want to talk 
about many things.” 

“I promise I won’t move again if you will tell me 
everything, every word of this shameful story. If 
you suppress one single item I shall — break off our 
engagement.” 

He laughed and told me all, and I sat in silence 
for a long time considering Aunt Menelophe’s du- 
plicity. 

“Well, little girl?” he said softly after a time, 
stroking my hair. 

“I say again it is the most shameful story I have 
ever heard. I could not have believed it of Aunt 
Menelophe; I trusted in her implicitly. To think 
that while I had been confiding in her, relying upon 
her honor, comforted by her sweet sympathy, she 
has all the time been drawing me out, making me 
say things and passing them on to you. Oh, it is 
horrible, horrible!” 

“Not quite that; you exaggerate it. She has 
never once repeated anything you actually said. 
She has in all written me four letters ” 

“And in the last,” I interrupted, “she actually 
said she thought I was beginning to want you.” 

“Those were her words.” 

“Followed by a telegram to-day saying that I had 
put such a wish into words ? ” 

He nodded. I made a big effort to wrench myself 
away. I felt suffocated. 

[ 380 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


“That is not fair,” he said sternly, gripping me 
tightly. “ You promised you would sit still.” 

“But this is awful, Robert,” I gasped, struggling; 
“human flesh cannot stand it.” 

“Well, then, sit still; it’s quite easy if you try.” 

“ But I have been actually flung at your head.” 

“I’ve liked it,” he answered, smiling. 

“What must you think of me?” I asked, covered 
with shame. 

“Shall I tell you?” 

“Please,” I said under my breath. 

And he told me, but — I can’t write it down, it is 
too foolish and — beautiful; and then he drew my 
face to his and kissed me. 

“That is not me,” I said, shaking my head. 

“Your grammar is somewhat shaky, but it is you 
all the same,” he said, smiling, “my own dearest 
little girl.” 

“Robert, you are big and kind and magnanimous,” 
I sighed. “ Men are nice and superior.” 

“ All of them ? ” he asked. 

“Not quite all,” I corrected myself. “Did Aunt 
Menelophe tell you I had been engaged ? ” 

“Yes.” His voice was grave. 

“ And yet you still care for me ? ” 

“And yet I still care for you,” he said, his face 
becoming very tender, “and am glad about it now.” 

“ You are glad ? ” 

“ Yes, for I think it taught you to love me, or rather 
1381] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 

to realize that you loved me, for I believe that you 
have cared for me a little all along without know- 
ing it.” 

I nodded. 

“I believe I have.” 

And then one of those silences, which are more 
beautiful and completely satisfying than words, fell 
between us. I gazed at my castles, and Robert 
gazed at me. 

“By the way,” he said after a time, “have you 
noticed my new suit and boots and tie ? ” 

“Yes,” I replied. 

He regarded himself gravely. 

“ Do you think they fit ? ” he inquired anxiously. 

“Perfectly. I hardly knew you,” I said, trying to 
suppress a choke in my voice. But his quick ear 
detected it. 

“Why, my little Hazel,” he cried, “what is the 
matter ? I believe you are crying. What have I said ? ” 

“Nothing, nothing,” I whispered, burying my face 
in his shoulder; “but please do not ever mention 
those — clothes again. I am too ashamed. It was 
so mean and petty and horrid of me. Promise me 
you will forget it, I want you to so much, and to for- 
give me. You don’t know how I have ached to 
see you in the old, wrinkly, shabby coat and moulting 
tie and knotted bootlaces. I have pined for the 
sight of a knotted bootlace.” 

“My poor, little girl,” he said tenderly, hugging 
[ 382 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


me to him closely, “my silly little girl. I didn’t 
mind; you were quite right, I was too careless of my 
appearance. I should be dissatisfied if you were not 
fresh and pretty and dainty. I shall never forget 
how you looked that day in church.” 

*‘You have told me before,” I interrupted; “it 
was the day you were so — snubby and unkind to me; 
but haven’t you anything ancient now — not a single 
primeval garment?” 

A twinkle crept into his eyes. 

“Well, to tell you the truth,” he confessed, “I did 
keep the old, wrinkly coat just to smoke in. It is so 
confoundedly comfortable. I gave instructions for it 
to be thrown away, and afterward I fished it out of 
a heap of rubbish stowed away in the boxroom. I 
don’t know what led me up there, it must have been 
instinct in conjunction with a tightness across my 
chest, caused, I suppose, by my new coat. So I 
sneaked it away one night under cover of the dark- 
ness, and hid it before Mrs. Egerton found me out, 
and if you don’t mind I will wear it occasionally 
in an evening just to smoke in.” His face was whim- 
sical and pleading. 

“You shall wear it every night as long as it hangs 
together,” I vowed; “ and then we will have it patched. 
And if ever you miss putting it on I shall — refuse 
to sit with you.” 

“I’ll never miss,” he said with promptitude; and 
then we heard Aunt Menelophe’s step, and she paused 
[ 383 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


* outside the door while she hummed a little tune, which 
was quite unnecessary, as Robert and I were sitting 
on opposite sides of the hearth as she entered. 

Her attitude was one of airy unconcern, almost, I 
was going to say, of brazenness. She advanced 
toward the coalbox, still humming. 

“I came to see how the fire was getting on,” she 
said, picking up the tongs, “some people have a way 
of letting it out.” 

“ Aunt Menelophe, you are a base traitor,” I observed, 
seizing her hand and kissing it. “ Your and my ways 
in life will now lie apart.” 

“Well, then, you must leave my house at once,” 
she replied, a little smile hovering round the corners 
of her sweet mouth, “ but — Mr. Inderwick may stay.” 


[ 384 ] 


CHAPTER XXXI 


The Eve of My Wedding-day 

R obert and I are to be married to-morrow, the 
5ilst of June, and I am so happy I can hardly 
bear it. Every now and again I have to 
screw up my eyes and pinch myself to make sure it 
is all true. I wander from one room to another, and 
I don’t know them, for there are roses everywhere: 
pink — of that heavenly tint only to be found inside 
tiny sea-shells and in the faint flush of dawn on early 
summer mornings, and — in roses; yellow — pale on 
the outside, and with hearts of a deeper glow ; crimson 
— ^great big luscious fellows, velvety and dewy; white 
— dear little sweet-scented monthly roses, very wide 
open and wide awake ; and even little starry wild roses 
peeping out from their lovely foliage of green at their 
bigger and more important brethren. I give my- 
self another little pinch. Can these be our rooms — 
our dining- and drawing-rooms ? Hitherto Angela has 
not permitted roses to enter them, for roses drop 
petals, and petals are untidy; but Robert asked for 
them (at my request), and Angela is wonderfully 
25 [ 385 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


submissive to Robert, though she says things behind 
his back at times. Then, too, the twelve faded 
damask chairs have new, sprightly chintz covers, 
strewn with dainty, wee roses. I bought and paid 
for the chintz out of my trousseau money. It meant 
doing without another new hat and a second-best 
parasol; but one could not possibly require two new 
hats and two parasols, all at once, in Heatherland; 
it would be wilful extravagance. Besides, I never 
use a parasol; I only carry one to church on Sundays 
to impress people. 

Mother is radiant over the new covers. Phoebe 
Ellis made them; and I know mother goes half a 
dozen times a day to peep at them, and there is a 
beautiful look of satisfaction on her dear face every 
time she enters the room. I catch her surreptitiously 
closing the laths of the blinds. A stray sunbeam 
has been caught dancing over the chair near to the 
whatnot; it must be banished at once. It seems 
funny to think that soon I shall have the blinds up 
all day at the Old Hall Farm, sun or no sun; the 
Dee and the banks of yellow sand and the blue Welsh 
mountains will never be shut out from our view. I 
shall look across at the shrouded windows of Shady 
Oak, and give a gentle, little chuckle of satisfaction. 

From the roses in the house Dibbs and I wander 
to the garden and Sammy, and I find roses there, 
roses everywhere. He and I keep having last little 
gossips, he assuring me that “wimin” (barring my- 
[ 380 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


self) are ‘‘dry hash.” He forgets that I shall be 
living quite close to him, and that there will be fre- 
quent opportunities in the future for impressing 
this depressing and mournful fact upon me. This 
morning I said — 

“Sammy, you are really jealous that you yourself 
are not being married. It seems sad that no young 
woman would ever have you.” 

I thought it wise to slip away the next moment to 
my room to have another peep at my wedding-gown. 
I take a chair to it and sit down and gaze. It is 
Aunt Menelophe’s wedding gift. Reas, of Basnett 
Street, call it chiffon, but it is nothing of the kind; 
it is a bewildering mass of filmy, frothy, billowing 
sea-foam. When I am not peeping at it I know 
Rose and Elizabeth are, so it is never alone. I try 
to imagine what use it will be to me in the future. 
It will not harmonize with Robert’s smoking-coat. 
He says we shall go to London once a year, and I 
can then wear it; and Angela suggests my selling 
it. The romantic side of my sister has never been 
strongly developed. 

The written recipe book is voluminous and fat. 
I notice the page given over to pickled onions is heavily 
scored, especially the parts referring to the weight 
of peppercorns. Mrs. Egerton will wonder at it, as 
she is to remain on with us, for a time, and house- 
keep. Robert says he wants us to have the long 
days of summer and autumn to ourselves — quite 
[ 387 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


to ourselves — and that their harmony would be com- 
pletely spoiled were I to be worried with things like 
butchers and the paraflin oil giving out. Robert 
takes a sensible view of life, and does not think it 
essential that a woman should know exactly how 
many times a week her saucepans are scoured out 
with boiling soda water. Mother and ^Angela shake 
their heads over the retention of Mrs. Egerton. They 
say it is gross extravagance, and will get me into bad 
ways. Mother has made me promise to keep accounts, 
and has presented me with a black American-cloth 
covered book containing ruled lines of three columns, 
a green purse, and two tin cash-boxes. She says 
the boxes won’t be sufficient for properly kept accounts, 
but that Robert’s empty Navy-cut tobacco tins will 
fill up the breach. Now I reflect upon it, I have 
frequently observed mother regarding tobacco boxes 
with a sort of introspective eye. 

Frederick Moss is engaged to Rosabel Hawthorn, 
and is very pleased and proud at having found some- 
one who will marry him. She is very happy, and 
says being engaged to a poet gives her funny feelings. 
I am not surprised. Frederick has, as a wedding 
present, given me a copy of his own poems bound 
in white leather. The paper is thick and the margin 
of the leaves is broad, and the book does not seem 
to contain much else of importance. 

Butterby has given me the beetle for a wedding 
present. He forgot to return it to me after bor- 
[ 388 ] 


HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 


rowing it for the fourth time. It came in a registered 
parcel, with a few lines mentioning its value and the 
care I should take of it. He and Aunt Menelophe 
arrive this evening. Dear Aunt Menelophe, a lump 
rises in my throat whenever I think of her. 

I can hear mother and Angela away in the spare 
room. They are debating as to whether Aunt Menel- 
ophe would prefer a feather bed to a mattress. The 
mattress isn’t springy, so I have yelled “ feather 
bed.” Angela has called back that it is unladylike 
to shout. She seems to forget how often she has 
told me this. 

The front gate has just banged, and through the 
oak trees and sycamores and across the lawn, shim- 
mering in the afternoon sunshine, I can see Robert. 
He wears the old coat, and I am quite sure now that 
I like old coats. Now he has spied me at the open 
window. ... I can almost feel his smile. Now he 
is calling to me. . . . And I must go to him. 

THE END 


[ 389 ] 


I 




V 




V) 


t> 


^ -/'//II wy •> \>^ 


v'?-’ 




» ' • “ . *’''■' N>\ 

-^yi/yl'c % .^v f^s"* 

* ■/ '.v ,_ ; 

..= ... ^ -^iu«" . <f.’^ ^ ^ 

/ ,. . 'i /\ o ^ -\>^ C 0 « V 

<f> A -> ■<> C> .xV„/>^ .•'^^ b 

•?> -i\ c 5 ^V-A\n'^ b >. .^il,/^^ 


’!;^' 'Hii 


/ 




" ’ ^ “ ’ >° » ' • « , '^C- 



-f -fi 

■'- ^ Y ® ^ 






■r ^ 
(^- ’ 




v\ c 't/> ,\ 



•) N O ^ > 1 ^ 

. 0 ' ^ ^ ^ Z 'c\ 


\, \>i^r— fc. 






'V ^ 



-JT \' -■«*•- ^ 

' ,#■ ' » 

W„.-d^ ■' % 1% 

-%> \V.^ «^' ^> 'Z 

'•-'C' ■ "c^/' 

'' < o <* ^ 0 , ,V. -A O S 

o''\AlbL* ^ A “b: ^ ' • * cPV 

‘ " ' ' * ’ ~ ” y ^ ' ’ '’ '"'V * • ' ' ‘ ‘ ob ^ • • : „ 

s. ^ ^ >1 -p s, - ^- / 






'^:r ,, ^,,,,„, 

W . . J3.-wt// . >9 ' 

^ *■/ /'^y ’ ^ \^ \ ^ 

>*■ , ,\' -/ '.N A 

r^ V ^ Vj.'^ 

\ ’ ’^,1. “^ / ^ ■' -0 



A' 

j» 

IrA 

N® o<, > 


a'^ c " ' o. 




0 N 


O’ 


'b - ■*’' 1 “'■ 'b. 

'^- * ^Mjh i , 



^ ^ /b 7' 



C- 


^ ‘‘i;/ 

' ^0 o^, *, 4 

*■•■ "’ ■■°- 'AAAA»'\A, .. , 'V* -.TA* . 0 - 




0‘- »■- * 
/ 'Ma4^ 

<V -',j> 'iK/^JJI 

•v'^ .'-^wv'- cP' ■'* 


A -^r^ 



* \\ 

- A- A 


\ 


0 o 


tf I 





>■- -• ■■ ^ ‘^'y'/iDJ^ C A 

^ y * 0 i^> / ' * '^ -V ^ ^*j jt 

* ■' ^ 

.A' ^ ^ 'br. A ^ " Vv A. 

AbvX'V/. >j c ilT* ,\X' .* 

r 2: 


n<-, ^ 

a' ’ c “ '' ‘ / '/'o ' ’ * ■■ AA , ' ' « , 

-%< 5 SS>,A- - ,_ ,.. 




- ^ * m^'.'^i y- '^' •> 

. , . ■ <-^ * ^ - ’ ^ \<' os, . 

'O' ^ c ^ .O' . V 

'■’ ssV/7^% S%<??^lV' " . ''> 

^ Vg ■*^--»j* !*'><-* I> /tVC'vL4»4 j. 


""Vv' 

.JX V *» '^"'•'- 

0^ 

1 *> 

^ « r\ 

' S . ^ , "'t'. '*' ■'> s « ’ 

' '// ^ O^ ^'i.*o, 



z 

<D j s ^ ^ \0 

' ■’fco' • 

"* 4 ^ **■ 

'y ,V ^ 

vL • rL^ y ''vjvj- « • ) 

" "on o ’ ^0- 

o'r s- '* ^ ^ /■ 

- x'o ^ -3 5, <■ 


I i, I ^'' ^ 

' ■ 0*^“ 

V ^'A 


0 







